


Into these deep waters

by coudric



Series: Family's Sins. [1]
Category: Naruto
Genre: Angst, Brothers, Human Experimentations, Hurt/Comfort, Incest, Misunderstandings, Rape/Non-con Elements, more tags to be added as they occure, possibly some slow burn MadaTobi on the side
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-13
Updated: 2020-06-16
Packaged: 2020-07-12 10:42:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 9
Words: 50,792
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19944841
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coudric/pseuds/coudric
Summary: When Senju Butsuma started to spiral down a darker path in his obsession to defeat the Uchiha and Tobirama, bound by filial duty, became complicit in his father's actions, Hashirama defected. Tobirama was left to step into shoes too big for him and with a father whose attention had always unsettled him in ways he couldn't understand.Now with Butsuma dead, the Senju lay in tatters, disgraced and defeated. Tobirama would do anything to protect what remained of his clan but he wasn't sure whether there was any place for them in Hashirama's peace. Just as he wasn't sure how to mend broken relationships.





	1. Prologue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been working on this for a while and thought I'd throw out the prologue. There won't be regular updates for now because I'd like to get a good bulk of the plot down before that (it's looking good so far). Also, this is mainly focused on Hashi&Tobi but there might be a little MadaTobi eventually down the road; I wasn't sure whether to tag it (I'll see if anything comes of it, I suppose).
> 
> Anyway, I got inspired (loosely) by a fanart that depicts Tobi watching his brothers leave him behind (Kawarama and Itama run together into one direction and Hashirama with Madara into another); just hit me right in the feels and here we are :((

“Your brother has left.”

Tobirama stilled, his hand freezing, fingers barely grazing the green yunomi full of steaming tea. He tilted his head ever so slightly to the right and leaned back, tea untouched. “…left?”

Father regarded him thoughtfully, eyes dark and speculative. He pushed down the growing unease inside of him and refused to give in to the impulse to fidget. It was always uncomfortable; the way Father would stare at him sometimes. Usually, Anija was there to distract him from the heavy weight of those stares. “That is maybe not the right term. He has _defected_.”

Tobirama felt his mask of indifference slip, only for a second but a second too long. He dropped his gaze instantly. Something heavy and sickening uncurled in the pit of his stomach as he stared at his hands twisting in his lap, nails digging into his thighs, knuckles turning white. There was a noise in his head like rushing water, loud and deafening.

Defected? Was this still about all the incidents that piled up over the last months? Because of the Uchiha? Did Father honestly believe something this ridiculous?

Of course, Anija had had difficulties and was unhappy, clashing with Father, with the elders, with the clan. His soft spot for Uchiha Madara didn’t endear him to anyone. But despite all of that, all the discontent and resentment festering through their clan, through Anija, he still _cared_. He was the heir, their strongest hope in this war; he wouldn’t betray them.

Anija wouldn’t leave _him_ behind.

_Wouldn’t he though? You’re neither Kawarama nor Itama._

He barely suppressed a flinch when calloused fingers forced his chin up.

“You really didn’t know,” Father stated, almost sounding amused. “When did he stop valuing you?”

Tobirama couldn’t breathe.

“He did seem distant ever since that river incident, didn’t he? Holding such a petty grudge and still preaching about how we shouldn’t want to avenge every one of us that fell to an Uchiha blade.”

The tight lines around Tobirama’s mouth softened with surprise. It wasn't fully correct because Anija had started to withdraw from him after Itama's death although, it hadn't been really obvious at first - Tobirama himself hadn't realized when Anija's gaze had stopped seeking him out. In a way, Father was right. There might have been cracks before but the Nakano confrontation, Uchiha Madara, everything started to crumble after that, didn't it? Yet... Father would watch, of course. His contemplative gazes were always trailing Tobirama, but he hadn’t known that Father also _observed_.

“And the recent incidents upset him further.” Father’s gaze sharpened and the grip around his chin tightened painfully. He didn’t wince. “Do you think you did anything wrong, Tobirama?”

He remembered the crushing hatred in the Uchiha woman’s glare as they tore out her eyes. Remembered the little girl who had run herself through his blade in a moment of carelessness. The man who had come searching for them and ended up being ripped to pieces.

“…no,” he said and hoped that there was no bile coating his voice.

It hadn’t been the first time, after all. Father wanted to know the secrets of the sharingan, and Tobirama had long since lost count on how many eyes he had been presented with to examine. Sometimes attached to their owners, mostly not. He had, however, never stood by as Father tore out an Uchiha’s precious dōjutsu while keeping them subdued with a mortal threat to their child. Nor had he ever witnessed such a child kill itself rather than cause their parent any more humiliation.

But those had been Father’s orders. And those Uchiha had been the _enemy_ trespassing Senju lands. What was Tobirama to do? The woman had been a shinobi, there wasn’t much that could have saved her, and she had killed their patrols – Setsuna and Anko, a sweet couple that would always spare some of their time for Tobirama; leaving little Haru an orphan. He had done what he could for the girl, even persuading Father to let her leave afterward; he couldn’t have known that she had other plans. And if he still couldn’t sleep without dreaming about a child impaling herself on his sword, a woman screaming herself mute - if he couldn't shake off Anija's face frozen in horror and disgust as he stared at him, kneeling in blood in front of dead bodies, two eyes in his palms – no one needed to know. Especially not Father.

The smile that unfolded on Father’s lips was pleased. He loosened his hold and let his thumb brush over Tobirama’s cheek, affection that had his breath stutter in confused shock, before Father leaned back, arms crossed over his chest. “You have always been the most obedient. Just like your mother,” he added like an afterthought. “She always supported me. Kami knows where Hashirama got his insolence from.”

Tobirama blinked, unsure how to respond to that. He couldn’t even remember what mother had looked like, and Anija…

“Regardless, you’re not to leave the compound until I allow it.”

He stiffened. “What?”

“You’re my heir now,” Father said. “As such, you need to learn a lot of things.”

Heir? What-? Tobirama’s head spun, too many thoughts trying to fit in at once. How could he be the heir now? Anija wasn’t dead! And he wasn’t… Tobirama wasn’t a leader. He wasn’t even that well liked in the clan! People whispered behind his back, made fun of him, thought his looks to be abominable albeit they wouldn’t utter such a thing where Father could hear and- he wasn’t Anija. Anija was their hope personified in the form of mokuton, who could handle people so easily, be charming and loving, and who was strong enough to make anyone feel safe. Who would accept him as Father's heir after having had a taste of Anija?

“And the elders have professed their concern that you might run off after Hashirama.”

“I would never betray our clan!” he said too loudly, bordering on insolent.

Father’s features darkened in displeasure. “So, you would choose the clan over Hashirama? Do not lie to me, boy.”

Tobirama opened his mouth, then closed it again, not able to get the words over his tongue. Father didn’t expect anything else.

“We can’t trust you. I’d rather keep you where I can see you.”

It made sense, of course, but- he had never done anything to harm their clan. Had always followed orders, protected whomever he could, never took Anija’s side in any of the arguments but had always been there to deescalate fights. How was this _fair_?! They couldn’t confine him indefinitely! He was needed outside in the battles. And he needed to find Anija. Talk sense into him. Get him back home, to their family, their clan, to _Tobirama_.

He tried another approach. “You yourself said that I’m the most obedient. Surely you can trust in your own judgement?”

Father smiled knowingly and Tobirama cursed himself for being so easy to read. “You love Hashirama the most, though. Loyalty lies with love.” A pause, then, slowly, consideringly, “I will trust you the day you bring me his head.”

His thighs were burning where his fingernails kept digging into the flesh. Nothing made sense. Anija was gone. The clan didn’t trust him. Father was upset enough to want Anija _dead_. Was this a nightmare? A genjutsu? It didn't make sense!

“You’re dismissed. Don’t leave the compound until I permit it. I will think about something as I cannot keep you off the battlefield forever.”

Tobirama didn’t even listen until the end before stumbling out of the room, his father’s burning gaze prompting him to basically _run_. His skin was itching uncomfortably, and his stomach was churning sickeningly, and he could feel panic rise in his throat in the form of vomit. He swallowed it, breathing heavily, blindly leaving that childhood home that felt too suffocating.

That night, he laid in Anija’s empty room, buried in Anija’s favorite blanket, wondering, unable to sleep, unwilling to cry while tracing that warm, familiar chakra signature on the other side of the Naka river.

* * *

A month later, Tobirama was sitting in front of Kawarama and Itama’s graves. His whole face was numb with pain and smeared with blood that meshed seamlessly into the new red markings he was sporting. He blinked away the tears catching in his eyelashes and focused on his erratic breathing.

 _Now, we won’t have to worry about you betraying the clan_ , Father had said while watching the mute stranger - white, almost translucent eyes suggested Hyūga - carve the final stripe into his chin, pupils dilated weirdly, making his eyes so, so dark, _you may leave the compound as you please_.

 _You may because you never_ can _leave_ , was what he meant.

Tobirama hadn't bothered to lie that he never would have left. He was duty-bound to the clan but if Anija came back for him… Father knew. He should also have known that Anija wasn’t coming back.

Gaze catching at the red camellia and white chrysanthemums winding over his brothers' graves, he wondered, heart aching, gasping for air, whether Anija would have stayed for them or perhaps he might have taken them with him. They had shared an understanding on an emotional level, Anija, Kawarama and Itama; warm and charming and open, all of them. Tobirama had never been able to relate, always looking in on their easy laughter and shows of affection from the sides, content to simply watch even if he couldn't understand.

Maybe Anija would have listened to them after finding them in an unsavory situation before judging. Maybe he would have been more forgiving.

He certainly wouldn't have _abandoned_ them.


	2. Fall into depravity I.

Six months and three days after his defection and after his chakra signature had disappeared from Tobirama’s range, Anija re-appeared on a bloody battlefield.

Tobirama had been fighting Izuna, something that was happening more and more recently as if they were drawn to each other by instinct amidst the chaos of each battle. The younger Uchiha brother was better than his age suggested, the searing fire that licked through Tobirama’s right inner thigh with every little motion a testament to that fact. But his over-eagerness to kill made him sloppy. And Tobirama might not possess the sharingan but he was observant: noticed when Izuna’s foot slipped on a rock, causing his firm form to waver momentarily – long enough for Tobirama to lunge forward. His blade caught on the soft flesh between throat and shoulder, went even deeper when Izuna forcefully ripped himself back, a surprised scream echoing from his throat.

The pain was another distraction Izuna fell for, opening his right side to Tobirama.

But a sudden spike in a familiar chakra signature on the field somewhere out of his vision – roaring like a freshly erupting volcano, singing his nerves – had his own attention shift for a split second, his hand hesitating. When it surged forward, quick and merciless and with urgency, a wall of wood shot out of the earth in front of him. His sword flew out of his grip, the vibrations of the impact with the wooden barrier rippling painfully through his arm; he barely noticed.

Tobirama _knew_ before he saw.

Anija had pulled an unconscious Izuna aside to lay him down gently and was bending over him, green glowing palms pressed against his heavily bleeding wound. Worry darkened his ashen face, his lips were pursed into a bitter grimace that looked so wrong on him and his usually warm, comforting chakra was subdued. Madara’s presence kept roaring in the distance, calmer than before.

Tobirama took a tentative step forward, stomach churning with a sick sense of foreboding. “Anija?” The ground shook in warning under his feet and… and that was _worse_ than anything else, worse than his brother protecting an enemy, than healing said enemy while not even sparing a single look for him. He stayed rooted where he was and swallowed around that sharp shard of his shattered heart that had lodged itself into his lungs ever since his Anija had gone missing. He would never get used to that.

“Anija,” he tried again, careful and tentative, wondering whether his voice would carry over the cacaphony of the battle. “What are you doing?” _Where have you been? Why are you helping the Uchiha? Why won’t you come back home?_

His brother didn’t react, didn’t give any outward indication that he might have heard him. But his shoulders stiffened ever so slightly, and his expression shifted from determined focus to faltering uncertainty, miniscule changes in reality sharply obvious to Tobirama. Yet, Anija's attention remained on Izuna, didn’t waver until the bleeding stopped and even after he stayed seemingly frozen in place. Tobirama could taste his concern for Izuna in his fluctuating chakra like a lemon being squeezed over his tongue. Frustration nibbled at his already waning patience.

“ _Anija!_ ”

“Don’t.” Anija shook his head once, gaze still downcast, tone blank. “Not… no.”

There was so much Tobirama wanted to say, wanted to ask now that he was getting a reaction but only one thing truly mattered. So, he pleaded, not caring how pathetic or weak or deperate he sounded, “Come back home.”

Anija furrowed his brows in what looked like distress. “That’s not possible.”

“Why not?” Everyone would throw a fuss, of course. From their father to the elders to the clan as a whole, but they could deal with that, couldn’t they? Their displeasure with Hashirama couldn’t be greater than the relief to have the clan head’s heir back. Maybe he could even offer information on the Uchiha, if he had truly been spending time with them, as a sign of his goodwill.

“Isn’t it _obvious_?” Hashirama’s fingers dug into Izuna’s shoulder, the one he had just healed, and when he did look up, his eyes were wild and frenzied, pupils blown wide by disbelief. “Don’t you realize what you and father have been doing?!”

 _Ah_.

What was he supposed to say to _this_? Tobirama might not alway grasp the logic behind them but he was familiar with taboos. Robbing someone of their dōjutsu was considered one of the most henious of crimes even if said ability belonged to the enemy; it was the reason why bloodline hunters were thought to be the lowest of lowlifes and could never operate outside of their shadows. And Anija had always been soft, not cut for the more unscrupulous paths, for the dirtier paths many a desperate shinobi chose to achieve success. But...

Although, Tobirama didn’t feel comfortable with Father’s methods, he understood the reasoning that led toward them. The sharingan was a terrifying advantage the Uchiha had over them, after all. What was so wrong about wanting to take it apart in order to find ways of countering it? It seemed stupid not to try to find out the sharingan's secrets simply because some moral code declared it to be wrong to touch another's dōjutsu. A shinobi did far worse throughout their life.

Besides, he was only researching the sharingan and not using it. Of course, he would prefer easier and less gruesome methods but they were at war, cooperation was out of the question, and in the end, Father decided how it had to be done.

“It’s for the clan,” he eventually said and, after seeing his brother’s expression crumble with disappointment, insisted, “We just want to know how the sharingan works. It’s to protect ourselves! Anija-”

“Nonsense! Bullshit!” He flinched back as Anija’s words cut over him like a whip. “How can you justify torture, murder, _stealing_ -” His voice shook, broke off, and he took a deep, shuddering breath before, “The clan isn’t a good enough reason. I can’t…”

Wasn’t that what the Uchiha were about, though? They would do anything to protect their clan. They had introduced child hunting squads into this war to prevent a potentially strong opponent to grow up into their full potential and become dangerous in the future. Tobirama had seen Madara cut down shinobi after they had laid down their weapons – because Izuna had been injured during that specific battle. How was that any different from Father not sparing an Uchiha who had transgressed into their territory and murdered two of their patrols?

It was a trait of the Uchiha to care obsessively about their loved ones to the point that they didn’t shy away from crossing lines and would seek vengeance with a horrifyingly single-minded focus.

Yet, Anija was taking their side. It was fine if the Uchiha did it but wrong if the Senju did?

“We can talk about it,” he found himself saying instead of wording his actual thoughts. He didn’t want to fight with his brother, didn’t even know how to, he just wanted him back. “Come back home, and we can talk.”

Anija was silent for a long moment, gaze flickering from Tobirama toward the battle that was still raging around them, and he sighed, shook his head once again and stood up with Izuna hefted into his arms. Tobirama stared at that, at his brother cradling fucking Uchiha Izuna and his blood roared with scathing resentment. It wasn't fair.

“I’m not coming back,” Hashirama said. He smiled but it was a bitter, ugly thing. “You wouldn’t understand.”

 _Nonononono_. “A-”

A sudden sharp tug on his arm had him stumble back into a solid body. Seconds later, a wave of fire washed over where he had been standing, blazing hot, and he instinctively pressed further back into the body behind him. He hadn’t even noticed…

The fingers on his arm tightened, blunt nails digging into flesh. “To be distracted like that. Pathetic.”

Tobirama winced. Father sounded far too calm for the fury that had the air around him crackle dangerously and that was never a good sign.

Once the red flames slowly dissolved and the smoke started to lift, he could see that Madara was with Hashirama, hovering over his unconscious brother. He couldn’t hear what they were saying but Anija's expression was so much softer now. Soft and yet sharp enough to pierce through Tobirama’s chest.

Father snorted in disgust. “I’m surprised they haven’t put an uchiwa on him yet.”

Tobirama felt sick at the mere thought. Though, Anija wasn’t wearing the Senju crest anywhere either, he realized bitterly.

It didn’t make any sense. Defected or not, Anija was still Anija, Senju by blood – why would the Uchiha accept him among themselves? Even if Madara vouched for him, Madara was only the heir and definitely lacked the needed political sway in this matter, and Uchiha Tajima would never just accept an enemy’s presence in his clan. Being distrustful was in every shinobi's nature. Unless… Anija had been _talking_.

Uncertainly, Tobirama took in the battle ground for the first time since he had caught sight of Izuna. Their warehouse was still burning in the middle of the chaos; the crops and vegetables within had probably already been lost long before they had arrived to find the location full of Uchiha. There were a lot of bodies from both sides scattered around, the amount not obviously disproportionate, more still fighting. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary although… How had the Uchiha found this place? As far as Tobirama knew, they didn’t have any significant relationship with the Akimichi clan aside from having their goods delivered to the Uchiha borders. How would they have found out about this warehouse at the edge of the Akimichi territory?

Either, the Akimichi themselves had told them – but why would they willingly lose trading partners in the Senju for a clan that couldn't give them anything useful in return? Or someone else had been talking.

“We’re leaving,” Father said and pulled him away from the scene. Tobirama stumbled, caught off guard, hissing as searing pain shot through his thigh. As he reluctantly followed his father, Touka and Takeshi, his father’s second-in-command, leapt over them toward Madara and Hashirama. He stared after them, dread welling up within him, steps faltering. Father didn’t notice, just kept dragging him along until masses of body and dust blocked his sight of Anija.

* * *

Tōka was leaving when Tobirama stepped into Father’s house. Unlike himself she was still wearing her battle armor the lower left side of which was torn, a white bandage peeking out. There were no other injuries, though, aside from some scratches on her exposed arms. She paused upon seeing him, mouth twitching into a displeased grimace, eyes darkening with unease. It was odd enough that Tobirama stopped in the middle of the hall to frown at her.

Her gaze darted back over her shoulders, uncertain and clearly nervous as if she expected someone to be watching, before settling heavily on him again. It didn’t suit her, being unsure of anything. She moved closer, touched his left shoulder tentatively and bent down to whisper, “Whatever he wants, don’t linger.”

Tobirama could have pointed out that he couldn’t leave without Father’s permission whether he wanted to or not. But Tōka seemed honestly troubled, even her chakra was in such a strange turmoil that he couldn’t get a good grasp on it. So, he just nodded to reassure her and sauntered past toward Father’s sitting room, a familiar weight settling into the pit of his stomach.

He scrunched up his nose in disgust as the stench of alcohol hit him when he stepped inside. There was already an empty bottle rolling next to Father’s knees while the man was pouring more from another one into two cups. No one else was around, he realized with dread; he had gotten used to either elder Setsuna or Himiko or both joining his meetings with Father as of late. They probably did that for every other meeting, although hadn’t done so in the past, and it had been a small respite for him. Father would still stare with eyes darker than the Uchiha’s hair, but he never did anything else in their presence. 

For a second, Tobirama contemplated to just turn around and leave – being around Father alone had been uncomfortable these past months, but being around him while he was _drunk_? And angry if he was reading the violent undercurrent to the already heated chakra correctly.

“Come in already,” Father growled impatiently, shattering any thoughts about bolting, and patted the space next to him. “Here. Have a sip.”

Reluctantly, Tobirama sat down on his right as indicated, too close for his liking, and stared at the cup that was pushed toward him with distaste. He was _twelve_! “No. Thank you.”

Father’s eyes glinted dangerously. “It wasn't an option.”

 _Of course_. Forcing his facial muscles to stay lax, Tobirama reached for the cup and drained it in one go – immediately spluttering as the liquid burnt down his throat, leaving a trail of something foul and acrid behind. _Disgusting_. But Father only huffed in amusement so, at least he was appeased. What had Tobirama almost jump back to his feet, though, were the unwelcome fingers carding through his hair. He had hoped that he would get used to these lingering touches eventually, wrote them off as one of the illogical after effects of Anija's defection, but they startled him anew every single time. Maybe it was his natural aversion to most displays of affection?

For a long moment, that was all Father did: sipping his alcohol as he stared at Tobirama so intently that he wondered whether the man could see through him. He didn't stop brushing his fingers through Tobirama’s hair, and his anger seemed to dim slowly with every motion. Although, it never left completely, crackling at the blurry edges of his consciousness.

“The blood samples you needed are in your labs.”

It took Tobirama embarrassingly long to understand what Father was saying – his head was light, and his mind felt comfortably sluggish. “Anija’s?” he wondered, surprised. When had anyone gotten their hands on his brother to draw blood? Had it been Tōka? Takeshi?

“And my own,” Father nodded. “I’ll be expecting results soon.”

Even the fog settling over his senses couldn’t keep out the utter horror slowly creeping into his bones. “Father, I… it’s not that easy.”

The man lifted both his brows in warning. “Did I claim that it was?”

“No, but-”

“You have been researching this matter long enough,” Father cut him off sharply. “All that is left is putting your theories into practice.”

It sounded so easy, saying it like that. But theories were not facts and he might have been following a completely wrong line of thought up until now. Even with Anija’s blood sample at his disposal, there was no guarantee that he could do much with it. He also wasn’t a healer, grasping the workings of the human body took more time than tinkering with seals and jutsus.

Besides, Tobirama might enjoy researching things, understanding how they worked and finding solutions to problems but _this_?

Suddenly, the fingers in his hair stilled and the air around them turned chillier. “What, boy? Do you think that I am not worthy of the mokuton?”

“Of course not,” he pressed out hastily, not even thinking the question through. When Father used _this_ specific tone, low and blank, almost a whisper, he could only agree with him. “I will get started immediately.”

The mokuton was Anija's, always had been, always would be. A gift that only his brother had been granted and somehow, Tobirama, foolish as he was, felt as if he was betraying his Anija. It was a foul feeling crawling through him whenever he entered his labs these days. But Father had had a point back then when he had first proposed this idea to him, knowing fully well how to catch his curiosity.

“ _It’s transmitted through the bloodline_ ,” he had said a month into Anija’s defection. “ _That means that every one of us must have it, but only Hashirama manifested it. Why? And why are other such inherited abilities like the sharingan prevalent in all of them?_ ”

Tobirama had been intrigued. Even more so when Father had left him with a multitude of books mainly on the mokuton that he had never seen before. It wasn't like they were stealing another clan's bloodline limit for their own usage, and it had been a great distraction from the constant throbbing in his chest as well. Yet, he wasn’t sure if it was possible to forcefully awaken a kekkei genkai. What if it wasn’t?

He shuddered. No. That wasn’t an option, he had to make it possible. Nothing else would satisfy Father.

Tobirama was snapped out of his musings by the hand in his hair moving lower, cradling his cheek to tip his face up. Father was leaning down and pressed a lingering kiss to his temple. He startled, shocked, but unable to react, frozen by their proximity and slightly distracted because father's chakra felt differently now although, he couldn't put his finger on why. His temple itched as if a dozen fire ants were slithering under the skin there and his throat tightened with unease. “F-father?”

“I knew you wouldn’t disappoint me,” Father said, pleased. Yet, there was a terrifying coldness etched into his features. A warning. A threat. “But tell me, Tobirama: Were you trying to persuade that traitor to return?”

He flinched, a full body flinch, something he hadn’t believed himself to be capable of anymore. _Traitor_. The word weighed heavily on his chest. This wasn’t like the river incident when Hashirama had ignorantly befriended Uchiha Madara, no. Tobirama couldn’t deny it this time and father’s tone made it clear that if he dared to…

Father scrutinized him thoughtfully. “We both know who told those Uchiha bastards about our warehouse.” It was a possibility, the more likely one, sure, but still only a possibility. “And that’s not all he has been talking about.”

Tobirama couldn't bring himself to ask, didn't want to know.

“Tajima was purposefully going for Hisashi’s seals.”

There it was again, that sharp piece of his heart lodged in his throat, making itself known by cutting through flesh.

Tobirama hadn’t seen Tōka’s father during the battle, at least not when he had looked after his confrontation with his brother. But his uncle’s throat had been bandaged when Tobirama had seen him in the healing quarters earlier and he had been sickly pale, albeit without any other injuries.

Hisashi was one of their finest fighters. He had been crucial in many tough battles, had slain many an Uchiha, but the man wasn’t from a shinobi family. As such, although he was incredibly intelligent and skilled, his natural chakra levels were very low. Tobirama didn’t know the specifics but Tōka’s mother, his own father’s half-sister, had made some sort of deal with a travelling Uzumaki to install specific seals on her husband’s collarbones. They stored his chakra over a duration of time – making it impossible for Hisashi to go on missions but it left him with a deep source of chakra to draw from in important battles. Supposedly, that had been the only reason why the elders had accepted his marriage into their clan.

Would Anija really sell out his own family like this? Even if he was upset? Upset with Father and him, though. Why let it out on others? Hisashi had been nothing but kind to them throughout their childhood, he was impossibly kind to Tobirama even now.

“He’s alive,” Tobirama eventually said. Tajima could have easily killed Hisashi after damaging his seals. Yet, there had been no serious injuries. That meant something, right? Even if Anija had told the Uchiha about Hisashi’s weakness, he also somehow ensured that they didn’t kill him.

 _Anija still cares_.

Father’s gaze was strangely focused for someone drunk, and he was too calm considering what had occured today and what he was talking about. They had lost a good portion of their hard worked for harvest, would lose their promising deal with the Akimichi now that they couldn't deliver the rations on time and Anija had helped the Uchiha – yet, Father didn't explode in a string of violence as he usually tended to. Tobirama preferred that, though. This calmly brewing fury wasn’t something he knew how to handle; it left him disoriented.

Father put his empty cup aside, paused as if to contemplate his next course of action before letting his hand fall on Tobirama’s shoulder and _yanking_. The suddenness of the motion and the fuzziness creeping into the edges of his vision had Tobirama go without resistance. He found himself with his back against his father’s broad chest, an arm thrown over his ribcage and stilled, not even daring to breathe as panic seized him.

“Will he stay alive, though? Do you think the Uchiha are gathering information on us for _fun_?”

Tobirama barely listened, too caught up in the restless rushing of his blood echoing through his ears. He didn’t like this. What was Father doing? They weren’t affectionate with each other, never had been, definitely not in such a way. It was weird and uncomfortable and-

“And let’s not pretend that Hashirama _cares_. Nonsense. He was so busy tending to that Uchiha brat that he didn’t see…” Tobirama jerked out of shock more than anything else when Father pressed down on his wounded inner thigh. Not hard enough to hurt but it tingled weirdly. And his mind was torn between listening and clearing itself from the fuzziness reaching for it and simultaneously trying to process what was happening – it left him torn. “He obviously has no regard for you.”

Tobirama hadn’t realized that he was digging his nails into his palms until a sharp, stinging sensation demanded his attention. There was blood, he could feel it, but he couldn’t be bothered to care. Father’s voice burnt through him like acid, insistent, hurting.

They were brothers. Even if Anija didn’t like him anymore, he couldn’t have stopped caring just like that, could he? It wasn’t the first time that Hashirama hadn’t noticed an injury of his, after all. Tobirama was skilled in not letting on when he was hurt – showing such weakness wasn’t becoming of a shinobi no mono – that surely wasn’t Anija’s fault.

 _But he was so worried for Izuna_ , a traitorous voice whispered from a dark corner of his mind. _So worried for the enemy that he didn’t see you_.

Father leaned forward, his jaw brushing against Tobirama’s temple as he reached for his bottle and pushed it toward Tobirama, a silent demand to refill his cup. It took him three attempts before he could hold the sake without his hands shaking and yet, he still spilled some drops. Father just hummed, unperturbed.

“You can’t be ignorant about this forever,” he said and to Tobirama’s muddled ears it almost sounded fervent.

Was this still about Anija? Did it matter? He could feel Father's heart beating unsteadily, could sense the sudden spike in his father’s changed chakra signature, there were fingers kneading his thigh, the uninjured one, and he didn’t- It had his stomach clench painfully and his pulse rise to a frantic rhythm and there was a sense of danger lurking in the air, tickling his already frayed nerves with persistent force. Tobirama didn’t understand what was happening.

He squirmed, grip trembling around the bottle, and tried to move, to stand, but the arm around his chest only tightened, bruising, and there was a sound, like a breathless gasp rolling off Father’s lips. “Father, please. I need to-”

“You’re staying the night.”

The fingers on his thigh crawled up toward the waistline of his loose pants. Pulled out his shirt and slipped underneath. His breath hitched, the bottle slipped from his grip, crashing to the ground with a low thump.

“Say, Tobirama,” Father murmured against his neck, sounding hoarse. "How come someone as dutiful as you has been _neglecting_ important responsibilities?”

Tobirama reeled at the words. He had always fulfilled each of his duties and more, had always made sure to never dissatisfy Father. But he couldn't think properly, his mind split between blocking out the burning imprints the unwanted touches were creating and trying to understand what was happening. The alcohol and Father's overwhelming scent - sake and dust and sweet Tsubaki - made it even harder to focus.

"I will teach you so you don't make any more blunders." 

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

* * *

The retching sounds were Tōka’s first indication that something was wrong.

Tobirama hadn’t been sick from what she knew, and as good as her cousin was in hiding behind walls, he couldn’t deceive her that well yet. He also would swallow his own tongue rather than let himself be weak in the presence of another person – he would have forced himself to stop the moment he sensed her approaching. Which meant that he hadn’t sensed her.

And this was _Hashirama’s_ house and _Hashirama’s_ room, one both brothers had long since stopped sharing, and Tobirama revered anything belonging to that bastard too much to dirty it.

So, Tōka paused in the doorway, an unwanted sense of foreboding nudging against her consciousness, and just observed.

The sun was rising outside, throwing the whole room into a soft, pinkish glow. Tobirama was bent over the side of the futon right under the only window, a myriad of blankets pooling around his lap and legs. His whole body was shaking. One hand was clutching his shirt where his chest was while the other was digging into it so fervently that she grimaced, feeling the backs of her own hands tingle with phantom pain.

He kept heaving but there was no vomit.

She had never seen the kid look this pitiful, and the sight had dread settle into her limbs like frost over a lake during the coldest of winters.

“Tobi?”

He stilled, rigid. Didn’t react, didn’t even seem to breathe for a long moment. Long enough for her to step inside, worry mixing into that frost of dread, making it difficult to actually move her body.

That got her a reaction, though: His head snapped up so quickly that it had to hurt his neck, but she didn’t linger on that aside from a sympathetic wince because he was staring at her and his eyes were so impossibly wide and _terrified_. She registered the strange bruising on his throat, the swell of his lips, the disarray of his hair like an afterthought; couldn’t really see past the naked terror veiled over those usually blank pools of vermillion.

He wasn’t burying it under his walls.

Tōka was kneeling in front of him before she even realized it, hands already reaching for him, disbelief and shock making them tremble. It was a mistake.

Tobirama jerked back and away faster than she could blink, and shook his head furiously, pressing himself into the wall right under the windowsill. Scratches which hadn't been there earlier littered his arms, she saw. And his clothes… he always tucked his shirts into his pants and made sure they were neat and presentable even when he was going to bed. But right now, the dark shirt wasn’t tucked and there were stains on it and it was ripped in one place, exposing a little of his right hipbone. It looked like he had been in a scuffle of sorts and put on his clothes in haste. The smell of sake and dusty rooms tinted with a strong hint of Tsubaki, the yellow ones that the late Lady Senju had adored, clung to him like smoke.

Tōka felt the world around her tilt as her mind pierced together a horrifying realization.

He had been with Butsuma.

The whole night – this was the fourth time she had come looking for him. He had been at Butsuma's this whole time.

Alone. With Butsuma. Fucking Butsuma _who stared at his own son like her soldiers did at the whores they sought out after a vicious battle_.

Her stomach lurched sickeningly, bile burning in the back of her throat. She couldn’t bring herself to say anything, her tongue refused to let words she hadn't formed yet roll over; she might retch herself if she opened her mouth. But perhaps that was another mistake because Tobirama’s breathing quickened rapidly, so incredibly loud in the suffocating silence, his chest rose and lowered hectically, and his gaze became unfocused, going right through her. His chakra was lashing all over the place, whipping against her own painfully.

 _Shitshitshit_.

“Tobi! Hey, Tobi, look at me?” Of course, he didn’t and when she tried to lean forward, to touch, the air around him crackled warningly. She flinched back as if burnt, never having witnessed his chakra rejecting her this violently before. It stung deep within the cradle of her heart, a sting that refused to fade. Helplessness welled up within her, it was an ugly feeling, combined with the desperation poisoning her blood and the disgust crawling through her veins – her nerves were raw, and his unstable chakra kept chipping away at them bit for bit. "Tobi..."

In her life, Tōka had witnessed a lot. Loved ones had died right in front of her, in her arms, before she could have saved them; Hashirama had disappeared and left a gaping, aching hole in his wake; her father had come close to death just today – and yet, nothing compared to _this_. She had never seen Tobirama, sweet and strong and determined Tobirama, fall apart like this before. It was wrong.

How could she have let it come to this point? How could any of them? After all, Tōka wasn’t the only one who had noticed Butsuma’s disgusting obsession with his youngest son. Why else would elder Himiko and Setsuna insist on joining the private meetings between father and son or watch over them while they sparred when they had never bothered before with Hashirama around? Why else would Hitomi, who had hated Tobirama throughout their childhood, loiter around the labs while Tobirama worked, alert and attentive? Why else would some of the others demand more of Butsuma’s time than they used to and busy Tobirama with silly tasks? They hadn't been oblivious. Naively hopeful that Butsuma might come back to his senses, perhaps, but not blind.

Though, she couldn’t tell whether it was reassuring that so many people had known or shameful that no one had done anything. It didn't matter that realistically seen, there wasn't much they could have done. Butsuma was too strong for any one person to take him on and he commanded too much respect and support within the clan as the one who had revived the Senju financially and in spirit after the previous head had carelessly thrown away their resources and lacked any direction in the war against the Uchiha. They couldn't have gone against him - but that _didn't matter_ , not in the wake of Tobirama's pain.

They were fucking failures, all of them.

Without thinking, she let her desperation pull out words from her, “Anything, Tobi, anything, tell me, what do you want, what can I do to make it better?” As if there was anything that could make this better. This wasn’t a scraped knee the pain of which she could paper over with his favorite sweets. What the fuck was wrong with her?!

But Tobirama’s expression did clear, and he blinked at her in wonderment as if only now really seeing her. If helplessness was ugly then hope was too fragile to latch on, she knew, yet she couldn’t do anything-

“A-Anija,” Tobirama whispered, voice low and hoarse and sharp enough to shatter her hope into thousands of pieces. His head leaned forward, almost bowing as if he was imploring her, and his plea tumbled out rushed as if he was scared that she might change her mind if he hesitated. “Please. I just want Anija. I… _please,_ can't you get him?”

Oh, kami, what had she expected?

Fucking Hashirama was always first on Tobirama’s mind. It didn’t matter what that bastard did; whether he got annoyed with him for not expressing himself well, whether he distanced himself from him and found a substitute brother somewhere else, whether he left without a second thought spared to him, whether he appeared after months of disappearance on the side of the Uchiha – Hashirama was the air Tobirama breathed in consciously as much as subconsciously. Always the first person Tobirama sought out even if he wasn’t around and others were.

Tōka swallowed the thick lump stretching uncomfortable in her throat and it dissolved into acidic resentment.

“No,” she said, unable to suppress the venom the resentment was turning into. “That’s really not possible and you know it, kid.”

Tobirama's chakra turned sour, thickening around them and assaulting her senses in a way that shouldn’t be possible because she wasn’t that great a sensor, but it hurt. He was shaking so much that for a heartbeat, she was terrified that his body would shut down under the stress. “Then leave! Get. Out!”

 _Fuck_. Tōka pressed her palms on the futon, ignoring his full body flinch, and bent forward, angry and frustrated in equal measures. “Listen, brat. This isn’t about that traitor-”

“He’s my brother!” he screamed. Actually _screamed_ , any trace of his usual impassive mask crumbled to dust.

She tried not to let it affect her, stomped out her shock and pressed on, “He _left_! You can’t conveniently forget this little detail, brat!” _This isn’t about Hashirama, stop making it about him, stop it, stop it, stop it_.

Tobirama grabbed the blankets at his ankles and threw them at her. He was breathing too hard and too loudly and there was a disturbingly wild gleam to his eyes. “You said _anything_! And I only want Anija! Why can’t you bring him here?!”

 _Don’t. Don’t. Don’t_. But Tōka thought about how Hashirama had left without anyone knowing anything. Thought about how he had been standing with the Uchiha, healed Izuna instead of caring for his own brother. How he had most likely told those assholes about her father’s one weakness.

“Because he doesn’t fucking want you!”

She regretted it the moment she said it. His crumbling expression, the blatant hurt seeping into his features were only the hands pushing the kunai she herself had lodged between her ribs deeper, and it _bled_. What was she doing?!

“Shit, Tobi, I didn’t mean-”

He shook his head, fingers digging into his hair as he did, feet thrashing out as if he was trying to scramble farther away but couldn't. “Leave. Just – leave me alone!”

Tōka didn’t want to. But she had made everything worse, his chakra was suffocating her, and she didn't trust her own temperament right now – with shame and guilt choking her, Tōka stumbled out of the room and out of the house, leaving Tobirama to his own misery.

Later, she would try to talk to him again. Maybe get him to see one of the healers. And after... she didn't know.

As much as it sickened her, she couldn't protect Tobirama from that piece of shit that called himself his father, and that knowledge terrified her to the core. Was there anyone who could, though?

 _Hashirama_ , her muddled mind whispered and she froze in the middle of the street that led up to Hashirama's house. Heard Tobirama's pleas for his Anija ringing in her ears. 

The fucker _was_ impossibly strong even if he rarely displayed it. Far stronger than any of them. If he wanted to, he could take down Butsuma and quench any opposition by sheer force. And he would want to, wouldn't he? If he ever found out what Butsuma had done...

 _But he left_ , she reminded herself. _Left and willingly gave up his responsibility for Tobirama. Joined the Uchiha and is selling out his family_.

Tōka let the vicious hatred simmering in her veins burn any thoughts of that traitor to ashes.

There had to be another way. One to end Butsuma without having to beg Hashirama for help.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally, I had been planning to start with a time-skip but - plans change, lol. I'm going to stick with this for one or two more chapters before jumping forward, I think. And ugh, you won't believe how long I've been tinkering with this chapter (it's gotten so long). I'm leaving it as it is now, as satisfied as I can be. Thanks for all the lovely comments and kudos, guys ❤️


	3. Fall into depravity II.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hm, I really don't know why these extra chapters keep getting so long (-_-)ゞ゛

_“…Hatake apparently attacked Butsuma-sama!”_

_“Did you hear? Hisashi-san was selling clan secrets. They found a chest full of letters proving his treason!”_

_“I heard that he wanted to get rid of Butsuma-sama and make Hashirama Clan Head.”_

_“He’s never been a Senju, in the end. What do you…?”_

_“Won’t the Hatake retaliate? Butsuma-sama killed allies, that’s dishonorable!”_

_“He isn’t even denying any of the charges. What a fool.”_

_“The punishment for treason is death.”_

_“Fuck you! All of you! You disgusting-”_

_“As Butsuma-sama’s heir, it is only befitting that Tobirama-sama carries out the sentence.”_

*~*

Blood trickled down the tip of his tilted sword, disturbing the surface of the Nakano. Tobirama wondered whether it was as red as his eyes, darkened and frenzied by the suffocating chokehold of guilt, or whether it glowed as starkly as the sharingan on the other side of the river did.

Oddly enough, his muddled senses recognized that wildly thrashing chakra that tasted like burning cinder on the back of his tongue long before his mind grasped the presence of the other shinobi – who had already been here when Tobirama arrived.

Madara. _Not_ Anija.

A sound bubbled in his throat, a mix between disappointment and hysteria, and he clamped his mouth shut tightly to keep it inside. This certainly wasn’t the place to crumble at.

Madara’s gaze roved over him from head to toe and toe to head, the slightest bit baffled, one brow raised in judgement. Tobirama resisted the urge to squirm self-consciously; he was still _filthy_ and the scent of sweet Tsubaki, dust and sake clung so strongly to his skin that it had his own stomach constantly twist with nausea. There was no way, though, that Madara could smell it from that distance and over the sweetness of the Nakano or that he could see anything through the yukata which Tobirama had thrown on in haste earlier. It was large enough to cover every inch of skin. Perhaps the dirt marring his face and hair and his bloodied sword were what caught the Uchiha off-guard.

Whatever it was, Madara blinked and his expression smoothed out. A derisive curl tugged at his lips. “Got lost, Senju?”

If he hadn’t been struggling to keep waves of guilt and loathing from washing away the last shreds of his composure, he might have snarked back or retreated or tried to spread out his senses to make sure that Madara was alone. This part of the Nakano, far down south from where Anija and Madara used to meet up, was close to Uchiha territory and they patrolled it heavily. Surely, there had to be more of them crawling through that forest behind Madara.

But Tobirama wasn’t fully here yet. He was too high strung to focus on more than standing upright and part of his consciousness was still caged in that horrifying frenzy he had run from. Was there something in the sky or why were the edges of his vision tinted red?

“Well?” Madara asked, agitated. It was such a disorienting contrast to his posture of leaning leisurely against his gunbai. Contrasting and deceiving. “If you’re looking for Hashirama, tough luck. He’s not accepting visitors of your kind at the moment.”

Tobirama stepped forward, driven by a sudden spike of hot anger. The splash when his feet left softened ground and touched streaming water resounded too loudly through the night. Madara tensed, he noted with vicious satisfaction, the fingers on the gunbai twitching. But Tobirama couldn’t do anything else, frozen where he stood with one foot in the Nakano and the other on the banks, throat constricted too tightly for any word to be able to squeeze out.

Fucking Uchiha. Who did that guy think he was to speak on Anija’s behalf like that? How come he was even here at the same time that Tobirama was? He had known that Madara was a sensor too, but always thought that his range was pretty short. Had he been close enough to sense Tobirama? It was just his rotten luck to be seen in such a pathetic state by Uchiha Madara.

What was _he_ doing here, anyway? His traitorous feet had carried him this far but what was he supposed to do now? He hadn’t been thinking. He just… had to get out of that cell, far away from the metallic stench of fresh blood that he could still smell under the layers of Father. What had his subconscious believed – that he could simply step in front of Anija while visibly marked by his sins and it would be _fine_?

Madara opened his mouth, ready to say more – why was he even indulging Tobirama? – until his sharingan shifted past him, surprised confusion flickering through it.

Tobirama turned around to find Senju Himiko’s milky white gaze settled on him. The old woman was a shadow swallowed by the forest’s darkness, not moving out of its safety. For an odd moment, Tobirama thought she might be an illusion; he couldn’t really make her out. But he could feel the displeasure dripping off her so clearly that it had him almost curl in on himself. His great-grandmother always had a way of sneaking up on him, perhaps her own sensor abilities had taught her how to do that over the years.

“You shouldn’t be here,” she said, voice low enough for the howling wind to drown it out before it could be carried far. “They are looking for you.”

They. Whom did that entail? Father? The council? _Tōka_? His grip around the hilt of his sword, slippery through all that blood, tightened at the thought of his cousin.

“Tobirama, enough of this foolishness,” the old crook hissed. She hit her wooden cane against the tree trunk closest to her, impatient, frustrated. “Let your brother be and come home.”

Once upon a time, home would have been wherever Anija was. He loathed how time changed.

Whatever it was that she read in his silence it only angered her further. Or maybe that was fear twisting her faint signature, he wasn’t sure. If her chakra were as aggressive and loud as Madara’s, then he could have told for certain but as it was, he couldn’t muster up the energy to focus on deciphering the nuances. “You never really grew out of running to your brother when pressed too hard.”

 _Ah_. So, that was what had led him toward the far edges of Uchiha territory – muscle memory triggered by instinct. Why tonight and not before that, though? Tobirama had entertained the idea of leaving a lot, after all, to his chagrin.

“But what will you tell Hashirama that will not shame you and our whole clan?” she sneered, and Tobirama reeled at that, heart stuttering, guilt and disgust acidic in his veins. _Shame_ , it resounded through his mind, again and again, louder, more persistent. The yukata was suddenly itching against his skin, scratching it raw, feelings as flithy and disgusting as he was. Himiko sighed, long and tired, and when she spoke next, she sounded exactly like she looked: ancient. “Don’t forget where he is.” She jutted her chin out, indicating toward Madara who hadn’t moved an inch. Could he read her lips or was Tobirama’s body obscuring the sight? “Do you want to bring us low in front of our enemies? Clan matters should remain within the clan, Tobirama. It’s for the best.”

Principles before emotions, duty before heart, clan before the individual. He _knew_.

When he turned toward Madara, he made sure not to look into the Uchiha’s whirring sharingan, took a deep, shaky breath and said, “If you…” He paused, cringing at how it hurt to talk, and tried again. “Tell Anija that uncle Hisashi is dead.” _I killed him like the monster Anija already thinks I am_.

Madara’s expression lost its sharpness, replaced by surprise. Tobirama whirled around on shaky legs and left, his great-grandma on his heels as soon as the looming trees swallowed him. She was strangely fast or maybe he was slowed down by the residuals of pain rippling through him with every step.

“Butsuma is furious,” she said to his back. “Try not to anger him any further.”

Tobirama didn’t reply. There was nothing to say to that. The silence that hung over them was foreboding and it had the hairs in his nape stand in alert, but it was more bearable than the pit of dread opening wider in his gut the closer they came to the compound. The trek back had never felt so incredibly short.

Tōka was the first person he saw. Although, she was crouched in front of the closed left wing of the gates leading into the compound, flanked by Hitomi and her squad member, Hayato, at the end of this gaggle of people, Tobirama’s gaze fixated on her first and his steps faltered. She didn’t look up though, she had to have sensed him. Her naginata was stuck into the ground between her feet and she was clutching the hilt with both her hands, forehead pressed against it, brown strands obscuring her face.

He wished he could snap back to his senses and make out what she was feeling. Anger? Resentment? Disgust? He wasn’t sure if he truly wanted to find out.

Father’s glare was brimming with icy fury. The sight locked him into place despite Himiko’s soft huff of protest behind him. He stared at the stern set of Father’s lips, ignoring the elders hovering in the background as well as Takeshi and Hideki guarding Father’s back. It almost felt like he had walked into a trial, one that he was bound to lose.

“Did the traitor reject you that you’ve returned?”

His shoulders were starting to raise, and he forced them down, forced himself to keep his lips pressed together and his features devoid of the turmoil tearing him apart from the inside. It was a futile effort, of course, because Father always knew where to hit with his words.

“Very well,” Father hissed after his continued silence. “Then, perhaps you would like to enlighten us why you killed Hisashi?”

That was easy, loathing was already burning him and loosening his tongue. “You wanted me to.”

Tōka’s grip around her naginata tightened, but he didn’t let his unsteady focus stray. Father’s chakra wasn’t as aggressive as Madara’s either, but it was hot enough to sear through the fuzziness of his mind.

“There is quite a difference between a public execution and whatever you did, boy.”

Of course, there was. One spoke of humiliation and was a deterrent for others while the other indicated that there was something to hide.

He recollected his uncle’s state – the unresponsiveness aside from occasional twitching of his limbs, the emptiness in his eyes, pupils blown impossibly wide, pain etched into his frozen features – that damned tip of a vine peeking out from between his collarbones. His stomach lurched. _“The poison has probably already destroyed most of his nerves,”_ Father had disclosed earlier as he had been still twitching inside and was burning frenzied kisses into his throat. _“I wonder what’s more painful, the poison or the plant growing in him? Either way, you’ll do him a favor by killing him.”_

“He was already gone,” Tobirama said, unable to keep out a desperate touch in his tone. “The poison, the- Why torture him any longer? There was _nothing_ …” His breath hitched, effectively cutting him off.

Tobirama hadn’t wanted to. Hisashi had been a great man, sweet and welcoming, regularly checking up on him and feeding him – he had been _family_ and Tobirama had loved him dearly. But there had been no trace of Hisashi in that man in the cells, no indication that he had any awareness. It had been a simple cruelty. And a public execution? Tobirama couldn’t have let him lose that bit of dignity, consequences be damned.

All this reasoning didn’t help assuage the guilt that was choking him. It didn’t erase the feeling of his blade slicing through tender flesh.

Tōka rose, slowly and threateningly. “What does that mean? Butsuma, what did you do?”

Tension crackled in the air, tickling his sensitive senses uncomfortably. There it was, the fury making her chakra roar wildly.

Father walked toward him, raising his hand in warning when Himiko wanted to step into his path, and Tobirama resisted flinching back. Instead, he let the man close, let him lean in and bore the scorching scrutiny. “It sounds to me like you’re questioning my decision.”

He needed to shut up, this was bad enough, Father was _so angry_ , but- “Forgive me, Father, but killing Hatake Itsuki and denying uncle a public trial weren’t good moves. And…” He trailed off, the words catching in his throat as Father was right there reaching for him. Tōka's chakra broke over him like a whip as she rushed forward, a feral snarl twisting her mouth, and Takeshi intercepted her, blocking her naginata with his own blade before snapping his fingers around her throat like an animal trap and slamming her down. She thrashed and screamed, and the sound, the sight, the raw pain shot through Tobirama like lightning, bereaving him of air. Hayato moved forward but one sharp look from an elder - Inabi - had him freeze.

“Perhaps you agree with your uncle’s traitorous thoughts,” Father said, ignoring the tumult behind him and ripping Tobirama's attention away. “I’m not a good enough Clan Head, am I?”

Oh, _oh_ , not just angry, _so much more._ He could almost see the threads of Father's patience snap. “Father-”

“Might Hashirama be better?” This wasn't about Anija, why was everyone dragging Anija into it, why- “I guess that’s what I get for being too soft on you," Father whispered, honest regret coloring his voice. "You’re in a dire need for a lesson.”

Father let go of him, moved back a little, gaze uncomfortably soft, and formed seals Tobirama had never seen before. The marks on his face heated, that was all the warning he got before his world sunk into hot, white pain.

* * *

“You shouldn’t anger your father such, Tobirama.” He squinted at elder Setsuna’s blurry form hovering over him, trying to decipher the words through the ringing in his ears. The soothing wet coolness on his right cheek made it a bit easier to concentrate. “Just do whatever he says like a dutiful son ought to. Keep him happy, that’ll keep you and everyone else safe.”

Dutiful. Once upon a time, it had been so easy. Appease Father, don’t talk back, complete missions efficiently. But perhaps, the meaning had changed now because he didn’t know what being dutiful entailed. Killing his uncle? Hurting people whom he cared for? _Serving_ Father-

“Did what he wanted,” Tobirama rasped, only a little petulantly. Talking didn’t hurt that much anymore. But each word set off an avalanche of dizziness that had his head spin and ears ring. He had to close his eyes and focus on his breathing lest the feeling overwhelmed him again. His face still ached too as if someone had pierced the bones – on his cheek and chin – with hot needles and forgotten to take them out.

It had been _hours_.

Setsuna-san huffed. “Clearly not, otherwise you wouldn’t be here.”

“Where’s Tōka?” he asked distractedly as his mind started to clear slowly. She had been about to attack Father from what he recollected and the memory had his pulse spike with fear.

“Mission.” Another wet cloth was laid on the left side of his face from cheekbone to chin, eliciting a grateful groan from him. “She insisted on taking one of the resting cases.”

His stomach twisted into tight, uncomfortable knots. “Which one?”

A pause. Then, carefully, “I don’t think that’s important right now.”

Tobirama cracked one eye open and focused his blurry gaze on the elder as the man was leaning back on his cushion. Had the old man treated him himself? He couldn’t remember a single time the elder had taken it upon himself to treat someone. He had retired from the field long before Tobirama’s birth. “What mission?”

Setsuna-san sighed, that action making him look older than all the wrinkles could have done. “There are reports of beasts causing trouble at the Mizu borders. The local Lord offered a nice sum.”

Of course. Unbidden, his fingers clenched into the sheets he was lying on. _Of course_ , his cousin would throw herself into violence to deal with her emotional turmoil. And could he fault her for that? After everything that had happened in the past days, he should be grateful that she decided to vent her anger out somewhere. But beasts? What kind of beasts? And _now_? Forgoing the mourning period…

The shards in his chest grated against each other, their sharp edges chafing against his flesh.

“She’s not alone,” Setsuna-san said after a moment of uncomfortable silence. Suddenly, the coldness of the dampened cloths, while soothing, left him numb in a way that was disorienting. “Butsuma-sama sent Hideki and his squad with her.”

Tobirama scrunched up his nose in displeasure. Hideki was a cousin of Father’s, the only one who remained alive, and as a branching member of the main family and with the wealth he had inherited from his maternal side, he held significant power within the clan, specifically among the council. He was also incredibly loyal and would often bid Father’s dirtiest business. It definitely wasn’t a mere coincidence that Father had chosen him to accompany Tōka, and he didn’t like it.

As if reading his thoughts, Setsuna-san nodded grimly. “Hisashi was guilty of treason. As such, Touka will be under heavy surveillance for the unforeseeable future, I’m afraid.”

“Ridiculous,” he growled, his grip on the rough sheets tightening until the tips of his fingers were raw.

Treason. What an ugly word, so full of condemnation and judgement. He couldn't hear it anymore.

He hadn’t been present during the "trial" itself, busy with working on a chakra absorption jutsu, and only learned the details afterward when Father saw fit to inform him – in private. A trial included hearing both sides, didn’t it? Laying out the accusations, the proofs and let the accused either confess or defend himself. It didn’t happen in the Clan Head’s private quarters with only the Elders and some bodyguards as witnesses. It didn’t happen by luring in the third party, the one supposedly consorting with the accused, and definitely not by killing them, especially if they didn’t even belong to the clan. Guilty or not, there should have been a fair and public procedure; Tobirama would have wanted a chance to talk to his uncle.

Regardless, no matter what Hisashi had done, it wasn’t right to punish Touka for it. Although, she probably hadn’t earned much trust with her behavior in the wake of the execution orders – which was understandable, that was her _father_ , but a shinobi's actions weren’t supposed to work on emotions and Senju were supposed to be loyal to their Clan Head first and their family second.

But if a small, pathetic part of him was relieved that she wouldn’t be able to just leave… He swallowed it alongside the shame it brought on.

“He _was_ conspiring with the Hatake.”

Tobirama’s gaze snapped toward the elder who was carefully taking in the room like one might a battlefield. It was a secluded area within the healing halls designed to host critical patients, he recognized. The air in here was stuffy, the opened windows didn’t seem to help at all, and the scent of bitter herbs and blood lingered heavily. But there was no one else here except for them, thus the curtains around his futon were drawn back carelessly. And yet, elder Setsuna was stiff and his chakra, what Tobirama could make out through the haze of dizziness, fidgety.

“We’ve seen the correspondence between them. Your uncle also admitted to having tried to remove Butsuma-sama. And Hatake Itsuki _was_ threatening us.”

“He was also the Hatake’s Clan Head,” Tobirama hissed, a familiar swirl of frustration and anger welling up in him as he focused on the less painful part. If he started to talk about Hisashi, about how the man never had had any interest in politics, content with whatever role the clan assigned to him, about how the most his uncle had been doing recently was checking up on him and feeding him… He didn’t know if he could trust himself not to crumble under his own emotions. “They were our allies!”

It didn’t matter what had transpired in private between them, you couldn’t host the leader of an allied clan and end up murdering them. That was an unsalvageable blow to their reputation.

When Sestuna-san looked at him, it was sharply calculating, reminding him that despite his soft nature and agreeable behavior, this man was as shrewd as any of the old bags. “They were although, since your Lady Mother’s death our ties have not been that strong and with your brother leaving, it only got worse. Now that they threatened us, Butsuma-sama reacted accordingly.”

“You don’t honestly believe that, do you?”

It was just so ridiculous. Hatake Itsuki? His mother’s uncle had been a sickly man with a mild temperament and although, Tobirama hadn’t known him that well, not as much as Anija had, he was aware that the other Clan Head used to have a soft spot for Father. There was no way he could have threatened the Senju to severe ties and cut them off from a main supply and trading route.

Besides, the Hatake treasured blood – Tobirama had never had much to do with them, there hadn’t been time to get to know his mother’s family and Father had always been reluctant to let them leave the compound, but they had stood with the Senju long after mother was gone. They didn’t have to, the Hatake were a relatively small clan, albeit skilled and moderately wealthy due to their rich lands, and there wasn’t much they would gain from taking sides in the feud between the Uchiha and Senju. But they still had because of Anija and him despite barely knowing them.

That was gone now. A loyal ally and with them, a crucial bit of land they had owned within the Hatake territory, plus the trading and supply route toward Mizu. It was so much worse than losing the Akimichi deal.

“I believe what I know.” Both cloths were taken off him, put into the bowl on the floor next to Setsuna-san before he crossed his bony arms over his chest and sighed deeply. “Hisashi was a good but a very foolish man.” The old crook smiled at him, a blank, ugly smile and leaned forward, lowering his voice as if he was about to share a secret. “It was unexpected, but he did it for you.”

His vision blurred for a heartbeat, the dizziness hitting him with force. He blinked rapidly, trying to focus, but he could hear his blood rushing deafeningly and _couldn’t_ \- “W-what?”

“He thought that Butsuma-sama was crossing lines in regard to you and he also wasn’t comfortable with the _experiments_ ,” Setsuna-san said as he regarded him carefully. “But what could he have done by himself? Besides, we Senju are exceptionally loyal. He would have been hard-pressed to find any support. So, he turned to Hatake Itsuki, appealed to his sense of family. I don’t know what he told him about your situation but apparently enough to receive aid.”

Tobirama couldn’t speak. Neither could he hold the elder’s knowing gaze, horror and shame twisting around his throat. It was one thing that people in the clan knew - or suspected - the nature of his relationship with Father. He was learning to brace himself against the pity and disgust. But an outsider? He didn't think that Hisashi had disclosed such sensitive information but the mere possibility... And what did that mean? That _he_ had driven his uncle toward treason?

The shame melted into nausea, acidic and restless in the pit of his stomach.

“Honorable as his intentions might have been, he forgot himself and reaped what he sowed. Trying to cause discord and instability when we are at war and vulnerable. Foolish, indeed.” More sharply, he added, “But _you_ shouldn’t have lost your composure like that.”

Tobirama pressed the side of his face into the pillow under his head, hoping to conceal as much of his expression as he could. It might have been foolish to go behind Father's back, to question his Clan Head’s decision in front of the Elders and other witnesses, he had no delusions about that – but he hadn’t been thinking straight. His mind had been clouded by Touka’s anguish and by the hollowness in his own chest, the unfairness of it all, broken further into a wild frenzy by Father as it always was after pleasing the man.

He didn’t regret it – his final act. Everything leading up to it, though? It was his fault.

“I mean it, don’t test your father’s patience. The clan is your responsibility, you need to protect it; think about everyone first.”

“I do.” That was all he ever thought about. “But uncle didn’t deserve such a harsh punishment.”

“Death for treason is the norm.”

“ _Death_ , yes.” Not being turned into a shell with a broken mind, not being humiliated even in your last moments. The man had fought and bled for the Senju despite not having been born Senju, despite his difficulties and shortcomings. One misstep because he had cared too much shouldn’t have been punished this inhumanly.

“I don’t disagree,” Setsuna-san said eventually. “But sometimes we have to swallow our honor and consider the consequences. You are the only heir your father has and with the way things are… going.” He grimaced here, tone lowering to a whisper. “The clan will have to rely heavily on you. Don’t repeat Hashirama’s mistakes by being impatient.”

 _Don’t abandon your people_ , was what Tobirama picked out and it _hurt_ because he understood the reasoning behind it all. Clan before the individual.

Setsuna-san heaved himself to his feet, bones cracking with the movement. Before leaving he said, “Tōka doesn’t blame you. She took care of you with Hitomi’s help, cleaned you up and forced me to assist.”

Mortification drowned out the flicker of tentative hope – he hadn’t even realized that he had been changed. He groaned, threw an arm over his eyes and begged sleep to knock him out.

* * *

There was a strange pressure on his cheek, on the left one, right where the red marking was still throbbing into his flesh. Tobirama startled awake.

Father was leaning over him. Too close, way too close to his face. He could smell the Tsubaki on Father, the sweetness so strong it his head spin. He hastily scrambled to a sitting position, back pressed firmly against the wall behind him, knees brought to his chest. Father’s lips were moving, but most of the words were drowned out by his own pulse, so incredibly loud that he could feel it reverberate through his whole body.

“…wake.”

Tobirama blinked away the remnants of the fog that was clinging stubbornly to his consciousness and forced his breathing into steadiness. The curtains were drawn although, no one else seemed to be around. It was much darker than it had been the first time he had woken up.

For a long, uncomfortable moment, no one moved, no one spoke. Tobirama stared hard at his knees, absent-mindedly wondering whether they were really trembling, or whether it was the wind brushing over his loose pants. Father’s gaze was scorching him and he suppressed the urge to claw at his skin to get rid of the sensation. _Keep your composure_.

At last, Father sighed, full of what sounded like regret. “I thought that you valued that brain of yours.”

As if on cue, stinging ache coursed through his head; he could feel it in the back and behind his forehead and his temples, _everywhere_. A phantom of the explosion the seals had set loose earlier. It wasn’t like he had known what exactly these accursed seals would do, not in detail, at least. Pain, yes, that much he had deducted himself. But tearing his head apart until all that was left, all that he was aware of was the pain melting his mind into a puddle of nothingness? No one had told him.

Would the activation of these seals leave permanent damage? They were connected to his brain, that much had been obvious even before Father’s confirmation and it was already taking him a horrifyingly long time to get his bearings. What if there were damages that he wasn’t aware of? The kind that would stay? The thought had him frozen with chilling terror.

“It shouldn’t be a problem as long as we’re not forced to repeat the ordeal,” Father said, reading him well. Then, slowly, measuring, “Will I have to repeat the lesson, Tobirama?”

 _I don’t know, I don’t know, I don’t know_.

Tobirama didn’t want to. Being put under that kind of unbearable pain… he would rather rip off a limb than experience that again. But he _couldn’t_ have let Hisashi rot away any longer, why couldn’t Father see that? Why were executions even part of his responsibilities as heir? Anija had never been forced to carry out sentences which he had deemed too harsh.

_Because he was stronger. He was different._

Father reached for his wrist, the skin-to-skin contact jostling him into stiffness, and tugged him forward. He bit down on his tongue so he wouldn’t make any pathetic sounds and didn’t dare lift his gaze. Part of him wanted to relax into that hint of familiar warmth tinting Father’s chakra, one he was recognizing only slowly, but another part, the bigger one, the one that knew that this hint was nothing but a poor imitation thrashed within the confines of his body, screaming for him to get away.

“Perhaps that is the wrong question. Tell me, son. Do you believe I’m doing something awful to you?”

When Tobirama pushed past the fog that was refusing to disperse from the edges of his awareness, he could feel a loathsome itch twisting under his skin. It was a constant by now, always there no matter how much he rubbed and teared off. Sometimes, he could swear that father’s calloused fingers were leaving those trails of itchiness behind even though they had been long gone. Now, though, they were there, and his skin was alight, _and he wanted out of it_.

“Your uncle seemed to believe so,” Father continued when he didn’t reply. “And it apparently justified conspiring with the Hatake and trying to contact the Uchiha.”

That last one was new and perked Tobirama’s curiosity. Uncle Hisashi had never left the Senju grounds unless it was for battle; he hadn't have any ties outside the clan and thus, would have had to communicate through letters if he didn’t want to draw any attention toward himself. Correspondence between him and the Hatake wouldn’t have been as suspicious as someone catching him trying to correspond with the Uchiha. Though, why would he? Hisashi had no love to spare for their mortal enemies and he had been especially spiteful after their last skirmish.

Father smirked, half amused, half bitter upon noting his curiosity. “He didn’t elaborate on that part, it's not like it went anywhere. But perhaps, he thought that Hashirama would make a far better leader than I, hm? Which is pathetic considering that Hashirama sold him out to the Uchiha. But pride was never that important to Hisashi, I suppose.”

The rumors had mentioned that. And Tobirama wondered, heart burning, how true that was.

“And Hatake Itsuki. The old fool was trying to force me to let you go and be fostered with them. I hadn’t planned to kill him, but he just wouldn’t shut up. It was quite insulting.”

That was surprising. He had heard that the Hatake did that – fostering children from other clans to ensure good relations and their samurai roots made that prospect more appealing despite them not having a long history. But wasn’t that usually for spares rather than heirs? And Father had never been fond of that practice.

He thought of what Setsuna-san had said about Hisashi having told Itsuki something about his situation, and his breath stuttered with the realization.

“So, I’ve been wondering. Do you think you’re being mistreated?”

Tobirama stared at the fingers wrapped around his wrist, transfixed. The words sounded wrong. Too rushed, too intense, unhinged by that fervent note that had Father's chakra oscillate wildly. It was a heady contrast to the illusion of calm tranquility Father had created around them.

_“You shouldn’t anger your father such.”_

“Tobirama.”

He shook his head on instinct, recognizing that tone so well, dreading the threat vibrating within it. Perhaps, elder Setsuna was right.

The hold on him loosened. “Good.” Father leaned closer and pressed his lips to the corner of his mouth, lingering, scorching. “Because there’s nothing wrong with this. It’s simply another part of your duties.” He was expecting it and yet, couldn’t stop himself from flinching as soon as father’s lips latched on to his. They were too rough, too demanding, soaking up any trace of composure he might have held on to. And father drank in his open expression with eyes so dark that he couldn’t stare into them without drowning. “Not that fools like Hisashi or that traitor would understand it. Your filial sense of duty has always bothered your brother, has it not?”

Very much so. Anija would always be so disappointed when Tobirama didn’t support him over Father, angered when he put the clan’s welfare over moral righteousness, bitter when he tried to get him to wake up from his dreams and take their reality seriously. What would he feel now about these new duties? Tobirama couldn’t even try to imagine it without his nausea simmering anew.

The fluctuation in Father’s chakra signature smoothed out, replaced by pleased calmness. “That doesn't mean you're forgiven for your disobedience. I've been too lenient with Hashirama and look where that has gotten us!”

And just like that, the uneasy tranquility was shattered.

“Father-”

“But I'm also a generous man, and your results with the mokuton are very satisfying.”

An image flickered in front of him - of the tip of a vine peeking out from between two collarbones. Horror rushed through him, so sudden and forceful that he didn’t even realize that he almost lost his balance. The room spun momentarily but even that couldn’t distract him from the disgusted terror that was eating through him.

Tobirama had spent weeks holed up in his lab, sometimes joined by Elder Inabi who would check over his notes and rarely by the man’s grandson, Hayato, who would get him the supplies he needed for his tests. He had invested so much time and energy in tinkering with Anija’s blood sample, examining its compounds, the faint chakra notes caged within, finding a way to multiply it. Getting plants to respond to it and making it available to Father had been trickier.

But he had done it, somehow. It wasn’t a perfect mokuton nor was it unlimited, Father needed to work on it, to find more plants that responded easily to him. So far, there had been one, the aconitum Hayato used to coat his weapons with, and he had given Father the seeds to help refine his control.

This was supposed to be used against _enemies_. Not family.

Father just smiled, lazy and unperturbed, almost amused. “You will not set foot into your lab for a month. If I see you working on anything, we might find out in detail what kind of damage these," he grazed his knuckles over the mark on Tobirama's chin, "can inflict. You will also prepare a statement for the clan saying that Hisashi tried to flee hence, you had to kill him prematurely."

Tobirama didn't like this but if Fathere acivated the seals again... The pain, as crushing as it was, was nothing compared to the terror of damaging his brain. No, he couldn't risk that. Besides, everyone was telling him to keep Father happy, even the most sensible Elders, and they would know what they were talking about, wouldn't they? And he had already killed family, nothing could lower him any further. If bending to Father's whims and wishes meant safety for everyone else... And it was true that he needed to protect his people - not the other way around. He wouldn't give anyone else reason to think that they needed to help him.

"I can do that. I won't disappoint you again."

"Good." And Father was kissing him again. If he concentrated on that hint of familiar, soothing warmth in Father's chakra, he could force his muscles to relax a bit more. "You will have plenty of time to beg for forgiveness now."

*~*

_"What do you mean 'dead'? How could he-"_

_"The Hatake are offering us lands and aid in exchange for Senju Butsuma's head."_

_"...doesn't make sense. They were allies!"_

_"It was your bastard of a brother. He killed your uncle."_


	4. Fall into depravity III.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :))

“You’re a _Senju_.”

Hashirama’s head swiveled to the side where the Hyūga was crouched as far away from him as he could without leaving the safe cover of the stairs above. His hands had stilled where they were buried in moist earth, the rumbling underneath quieting down as well. He was so shocked that his unexpected companion had actually talked and how condescending he sounded that he just stared like a fool.

It was a mistake. A huge mistake because even through the darkness and the slowly thickening mist around them he could see how the other boy was being swallowed by Hashirama’s outer robes. His stomach twisted uncomfortably at the sight, and he could taste bile on his tongue with the faintest hint of the lingering sweetness of the tea he had had with the shōgun hours ago.

Hastily, he turned back to his task. The ground was slowly cracking and yet, he couldn’t muster up any relief at the prospect of almost being done.

“Not anymore,” he muttered, the words as bitter in his ears as they were in his mouth. What did bother him more - denying the relation or still being associated with his former clan? He wasn't sure.

The other boy hummed thoughtfully, his gaze burning in Hashirama’s back. He resisted the urge to sneak another glance to check whether a Byakugan was fixated on him. “Such the rumors claim, yes. I suppose you wouldn’t be here if you were still one.”

 _Obviously_.

No clan would let any of their own throw themselves into the very charged climate of Mizu’s islands, ravaged by civil wars of a magnitude that didn’t exist anywhere else. Hashirama didn’t know much of their politics, why the civilians were infighting or who even held the power since the coup against their Daimyō, but Mizu was becoming a pitfall that more and more people avoided if possible.

But these were the only kind of missions he could get his hands on, these days. The ones that the reputable and even not so reputable clans of Hi no Kuni steered clear of until the clients became desperate enough to turn to rogue shinobi no mono with their requests.

Hashirama wasn’t picky. Money was money, after all, scraps or not. And the shreds of pride he did have left demanded that he stop leeching off the Uchiha although, he did offer his healing capabilities in exchange for a place to live in; well, after Tajima had deemed it alright to let him out of the cell that had been his home for a while, he did. But he was a _shinobi no mono_. That wasn’t satisfying enough, nor was the fact that he was too dependent on the Uchiha no matter how much Madara insisted that he was overthinking.

And if he had wanted to escape the mess back at home, to distract his mind for a short while, then no one needed to know.

The job promising great payment was a huge plus.

Although, he hadn’t expected to waste almost a month to just find his target city. Hidden on one of the farthest and most isolated islands, blanketed by thick mist, it was a ghost that you missed if you didn’t look hard enough. He was sure that he had passed by it several times in his pathetic attempts to locate it, and Mizu’s soil had been cold and unresponsive to him, refusing to guide him.

And he certainly hadn’t expected the Hagiwara family to be keeping a Hyūga locked away in this stolen manor.

_“…the eyes destroyed before that which means that there must be easier ways to obtain dōjutsu than just passing them down. How do you do it in Hi no Kuni? Surely, transplanting the eyes is risky?”_

“Why the sudden interest?” he asked in a desperate attempt to drown out the greasy old shōgun’s grating voice in his head.

Ah. Hashirama sighed in relief when a wooden box emerged in between his hands. It was rather small, easily fitting into his palm, and he could make out seals painted all over it, indicating that its content was worth protection. His employee – a refugee from Mizu according to her claims, although she was rather wealthy for a refugee and enjoyed quite the respect as a fortuneteller among many villages – had been very desperate for someone to retrieve this for her.

It seemed silly to him, entering Mizu in the middle of its many conflicts that certainly wouldn’t be solved soon for something like _this_. Ridiculous, really, and yet, here he was because what did it matter in the light of a generous payment? At the prospect of bolstering his own reputation a little?

When his companion spoke again, his voice was even smaller than before, a whisper barely carried by the chilly winter wind toward Hashirama. “It were the Senju who traded me off to this mad shogun.”

_“You see, my men found a Hyuuga recently, and what else but a sign of the kami could this have been? We’ve already been working on the breeding, of course, but there are only so many women I can spare for one kekkei genkai, no matter how powerful, and it’s an annoyingly long process until the children will be of use but…”_

Hashirama almost dropped the box.

Dread pooled into the pit of his stomach, a heavy, uncomfortable weight, as he awkwardly turned toward the Hyūga. “What?”

The other boy wrapped the robes tighter around himself and buried the lower half of his face into it, pointedly not looking at Hashirama. It was an odd sight. In all of his life, Hashirama hadn’t had a lot to do with the Hyūga clan, but their people were proud – _pompously arrogant_ , Madara would say – and kept a tight leash on their emotions at all times. They certainly wouldn’t curl in on themselves like that in the presence of anyone else, least of all a stranger.

“I don’t remember everything clearly, but those were definitely Senju.”

 _Fuck_. Covering his face with his free hand, he took a deep, shaky breath. It didn’t make any sense. Sure, their clans were no friends, definitely not sympathizers of each other despite their common dislike for the Uchiha, but there was also no particular bad blood between them. With already fighting the Uchiha and having alienated the Hatake, why would Butsuma also risk provoking one of the strongest clans in Hi no Kuni? Why would he even think it was okay to trade off a human being like goods?

Something like that wasn’t as rare as it should be, Hashirama knew. Human trafficking was a thing, especially among bloodline hunters, but it wasn’t something the Senju had ever engaged in.

“Why would they do that?” He paused, considered. “Why did the shōgun want you, anyway?”

A snort, derisive and bitter. “Haven’t you noticed? In Mizu, the status and power of a family is determined by the kekkei genkai of the shinobi that serve them. The stronger, the better. And the shinobi don’t have much of a chance at survival unless they affiliate themselves with a family.” Quieter, almost as if afraid, he added, “I have also heard that the Hagiwara at least have been trying to transplant the kekkei genkai of their servants into more people although, with varying degrees of success. Some ended up with… severe issues. Deformities. Mutations.”

The dread twisted in Hashirama’s stomach, making him sick. He had never heard of anything like this. Such practices when bloodlines were considered sacred within the shinobi no mono world… Mizu was a crazy on another level altogether, wasn’t it? “Is that why they didn’t try it with you? Scared of messing up the Byakugan?”

The Hyūga raised his chin, letting him see the tight smile curled around his lips. “I wish they _had_.”

Unbidden, Hashirama remembered the cell he had barged into, the kunoichi too lost in pleasure to notice him until he had ripped her off the body underneath her, the silent tears tracking down a shackled prisoner’s milky white eyes. He blinked frantically, willing his mind to stop. Didn’t want to see.

Despite what Madara claimed or what his father had believed, Hashirama wasn’t a complete idiot. He wasn’t ignorant of the filth dirtying the world just because he dared to dream – he wouldn’t _need_ to dream of peace if he weren’t aware of the darkness lurking not only during war but in a shinobi’s life in general.

Breeding was a common practice among bloodline thieves, just like rape was in the wake of a decisively won war or enslavement of the defeated party. But he couldn’t grasp any of these disgusting concepts. How could anyone touch another person in such an intimate way without their consent and clearly against their will? And the Hyūga looked so young, he couldn’t be older than Hashirama himself. What kind of monster did you have to be to do that?

If not for the self-restraint he had been working on in the past couple of months – he didn’t have a clan to lean back on if a mission went out of his control, didn’t have anyone else to take responsibility for him, didn’t have the option to fail his mission – he would have snapped that creepy old shōgun’s neck the moment he had bragged about what they were doing to their captive.

 _And the Senju were involved_.

Was it truly that shocking, though? Butsuma had been stealing the Sharingan, tortured and killed children, murdered an ally who had been a guest in his home and kin, ordered the execution of family – this was just another sin to add to the growing list. It didn’t mean that the knowledge hurt any less. Or that the gnawing doubt about whether _Tobirama_ had also been involved in this disgusting action, wasn't trying to drive him crazy.

He shook his head, unwilling to linger on that doubt. “I’m sorry.”

“You’re not a Senju anymore so, that’s not on you,” was the soft reply. “Though, if you could be patient and wait a bit longer for us to leave?”

Hashirama frowned, confused. “Why?”

The Hyūga turned away slightly, shoulders stiff, jaw tight. “They can’t get their hands on the Byakugan. I need to rectify that, or I can’t show my face to my clan.”

 _Oh_. Hashirama didn’t know what to say to that, didn’t dare ask _how_ he was planning to rectify this. He just nodded slowly and hoped that the attack on the manor’s east wing would last long enough for them to wrap this up and leave.

He was sick of Mizu.

* * *

“I knew that you would manage, and I’m still surprised that you actually did.”

Hashirama looked up from where he was packing away the last pouch of clinking coins, brows furrowed. He wasn’t sure whether to be offended or flattered. “You… knew?”

His employee, who had only ever introduced herself as Tsuya, leaned back on the hand she had placed behind herself and tipped her head up slightly, blond strands falling from her face like curtains. With her other hand she vaguely indicated toward her forehead where a large, red dot was adorning the skin in the middle. “I _saw_ , of course. I don’t simply scram people with my fortunetelling. Not always!”

Right. He wondered how exactly that worked. It sounded fascinating, definitely something he would have wanted to try out – before.

“Anyway, I’m glad you found what you were supposed to find.”

Hashirama nodded toward the box that she hadn’t even touched once since he had put it on the table in front of her. “How did you manage to bury it that deeply?” It had made his task unnecessarily more difficult, not helped in the least by how uncooperative Mizu’s soil was.

“Oh, that, yeah.” Tsuya blinked at the box as if just now realizing that it was there. Which was weird, was it not? What had she been talking about then if not this box? “Unfortunately, I’m horribly inadept when it comes to seals, otherwise I could have put it in the library with all the other sealed off items. But they wouldn’t have needed an _Uzumaki_ to crack mine, I fear.”

Inadept at seals… _Oh_. “You’re a kunoichi?” Did that mean that her fortunetelling was perhaps a kekkei genkai or a jutsu of some sort? Was that possible?

Tsuya’s features stayed lax, only a slight twitch in her shoulders revealing her discomfort. “Hardly anymore. It’s a rotten life.”

He thought back to the manor the Hagiwara had been living in; once the home of the Yamaguchi family and their shinobi no mono servants – all of whom had been eradicated by the three other main families in that city. There had still been blood streaking several halls, and aside from the shōgun everyone had been moving around as if walking on glass shards. If Tsuya had been part of that household – which was highly likely – then…

Hashirama cleared his throat, mind racing as he tried to come up with something to change the topic. “So. You can actually see into the future?”

“It’s a bit more complicated than that,” she huffed. The tension drained out of her. “I can’t see it. It sometimes shows itself to me, randomly and very confusing.”

“And you’ve seen me?”

Her gaze took on sharper edge, turned more calculating, and he shuddered at its intensity focused on him. “Kind of. Do you have a lot of regrets in life, Hashirama-kun?”

Caught off-guard by being addressed so causally, Hashirama needed a moment to process the question. _Did_ he regret a lot of things? He thought of Kawarama and Itama dying when he should have done more to protect them. Thought of his father becoming more and more ruthless with every passing day and nurturing that same ruthlessness among the Senju like one would a growing sapling. Of Tobirama being more Butsuma’s son than his brother-

He pressed his knuckles against his chest, wanting it to stop aching.

Tsuya watched him thoughtfully. “I see.” And that was all she said on the matter, not explaining anything. Instead, she grabbed her box and the massive fan laid astride on her lap. “A word of advice: keep Mizu as far away as possible.”

“ _You_ sent me there,” he pointed out, confused.

“Well, yes. But _I_ ’m not the one inviting their brand of depravity into my home.” With that said, she disappeared in a gust of wind. Just like that.

Her words, though. They lingered, a scorching imprint on his mind.

* * *

Hashirama was unsurprised to see that the Hyūga was gone when he stepped out of the hut. Slightly more surprising though not completely unexpected was Madara’s hunched over form sitting in front of the well just a few feet away from the door, arms crossed over his chest, face distorted into a dark scowl.

The slightest hint of guilt reared its ugly head when he realized with immense relief that Izuna wasn’t with Madara. He had nothing against the younger Uchiha, although the kid tended to be a bit too suspicious, but sometimes Hashirama just couldn’t bear to see the brothers interact. Right now, was such a time.

“What the fuck were you doing with the Hyūga clan Heir?”

“Heir?” He blinked, startled. Hashirama hadn’t managed to get the other boy to tell him anything much, not even his name, and he hadn’t been comfortable enough to press the matter. Especially not since the guy had twitched and tensed at every little motion of his and made sure to keep a good distance between at all times. The clan Heir, though? Why would the Senju have chosen to sell off the Hyūga Heir instead of someone of lesser value? It was as if they were going for the politically most disastrous route. It didn’t make sense! “I had no idea. I met him by chance.”

Madara’s lips curled into a displeased grimace. “Of course, you wouldn’t have known.” Hashirama couldn’t help but pout instinctively at that. How could he have known? “The guy’s been missing for so long – not long enough if you ask me – that those dickheads already declared his twin the new Heir. Seriously, only you could have stumbled upon him.”

For a split second, Hashirama contemplated telling Madara everything. As soon as the thought arose, he dismissed it, reluctance nagging at him. He had told Madara everything that had led to his defection, had conceded some information to Tajima as a proof of trustworthiness and a bargain to be let out of confinement - which he wasn't proud of but it to be done - yet... Instead, he grinned teasingly at the other. “Were you waiting for me?”

Oddly enough, Madara didn’t flush with embarrassment or sputter in indignation nor did he get angry. There was a grimness in his eyes, making them appear cold, and a certain stiffness to his movements as he stood up. He turned toward the looming forest and motioned for Hashirama to follow him. “I needed to catch you before you reached the compound.”

The grin slipped off his smile, replaced by a worried frown. “Did something happen?”

When he caught up Madara glanced briefly at him before he averted his gaze just as quickly. “I thought that you’re the only one with the mokuton.”

“I am?” The doubt flickering over Madara’s expression was insulting. “I _am_ the only one!”

Sure, Senju in general had a strong affinity to nature, some more so than others – it was what made them so good at growing things and nurturing them – but his mokuton was something else completely. As far as he was aware, no one in their clan’s history had ever possessed a mokuton that was like his.

“If that’s true,” Madara said slowly, almost carefully. “Then how come Butsuma can grow vicious plants and command them?”

Horrified, Hashirama came to an abrupt halt. The bag on his back grew incredibly heavy all of a sudden. Had he misheard? His father could do _what_? That… wasn’t right. Impossible. His father _couldn’t_.

Madara faltered in his steps before stopping and turning around. For a long moment, he just observed him, a little worried, considering. Then, he sighed and Hashirama could see now the exhaustion painted into the paleness of his skin. “You really didn’t know, huh?”

There was nothing to know. Butsuma didn’t have it. Madara might have-

_“I have also heard that the Hagiwara at least have been trying to transplant the kekkei genkai of their servants into more people.”_

No. He swallowed, again and again, frantically trying to get rid of the panic clawing its way up his throat. No, that couldn’t be right. Even if the Senju had been getting information on this from the Hagiwara, that had to have been fairly recent. Hashirama hadn’t been in contact with any of them for almost a year now. How could they have pulled this off without him?

“Father’s furious that you might have withheld crucial information.”

“He doesn’t – _didn’t_ have the mokuton,” Hashirama croaked. “Don’t you think that he would have used it before if he did?”

“That’s true but... How?” Madara muttered. “Bastard caught Izuna’s squad completely off-guard.” There was a small, apprehensive pause before Madara cautiously added, "Your brother got hurt in that fight. I'm sure he's fine now but that was a really nasty wound."

The panic melted into acidic sorrow.

Mostly, Hashirama didn't think about Tobirama. It was easier that way. However, when he did slip up, the litanies of _Anija_ echoing through his consciousness would threaten to drive him mad. The images of a boy on the verge of tears begging him to come back home would turn into ones of that same boy kneeling in a pool of blood - sometimes the bodies of a dead woman and her child around him, their eyes in his palms, sometimes uncle Hisashi's head under his sword; he had learned to suppress his urge to throw up but it still left him shook.

He didn't wish his little brother harm despite everything, so he prayed that Madara was correct.

But Hashirama refused to let his mind linger on Tobirama, he had gotten good at that, because otherwise he would start to wonder- Where had he gone wrong with Tobirama for his little brother to have turned out like this? Or perhaps Tobirama had always been this way, cruel and unfeeling, father’s perfect weapon, and Hashirama had just never seen it. Although, that wasn't entirely true either, was it? Hashirama might have never been able to understand Tobirama the way he had Itama and Kawarama, but that lack of emotions as he grew up, his terrifyingly ruthless streak reared by Butsuma... it had been there for years. And it got worse and worse as they had lost their younger brothers. For Hashirama, it had simply been easier to ignore and avoid, easier not to see.

Easier to pretend that his little brother wasn't turning into a monster.

"Hashirama?"

He blinked, dazed. When he looked up, Madara was right in front of him, hands raised as if he wanted to touch but wasn't sure whether he was allowed to. Hashirama stared at his friend, _really_ stared, and wondered what it was like to have a father who was strict but clearly cared, to have a brother who was full of teasing affection and life, to have a clan that at least listened. Something hot and uncomfortable curled in his chest, right underneath his heart.

"If you were in my position." He faltered, uncertain, wet his lower lip nervously. "If you were, would you have left?"

The sudden question clearly caught Madara off-guard. His friend lowered his arms and looked past his shoulder, fingers twitching uneasily. “Family’s family. I couldn't ever leave Izuna. And I mean, you can’t change anything from the outside.”

That was unfair. It wasn’t like Hashirama hadn’t _tried_ to change things. But he had lost his clansmen's respect when the whole Madara fiasco had come to light. No matter what he did, it was regarded with high suspicion. And even before that, no one had been particularly inclined to listen to what he had to say, whether it was about peace or disagreeing with Butsuma’s chosen methods of warfare. They hadn’t cared about the fact that Butsuma was becoming dangerous – his ideas, his actions, that they all spoke of madness. There was nothing but doom at the end of the road that Butsuma wanted to travel, and _no one_ had wanted to acknowledge it.

And Hashirama had been right, had he not? People might regard him with disdain, his former clan might despise him, his reputation might be in tatters, but he had been _right_. Killing children, stealing the Sharingan, selling off someone to be bred and kami knew what else. Butsuma had already thrown the Senju into ruin.

Was it so wrong that he refused to be part of that? They chose Butsuma and Hashirama made his own choice.

“I’m not saying that you’re wrong,” Madara said as if reading his mind. “Believe me, I’m glad you did what you did. Not everyone could have. I just...” He made a strangled noise, half frustrated, half embarrassed, still not looking. "I want to make sure that you understand - sneaky as they are, the Senju are at a disadvantage. Your brother got hurt this time. He could die the next."

 _Maybe_ \- Hashirama fixated his burning eyes on the earth under his feet, letting the feeling of life pulsating through the forest soothe his nerves. Perhaps... but the Senju's doom wouldn't be tomorrow or the day after, probably not even in months. Hashirama just needed to figure this out, to move things faster than he was at the moment - to convince as many of the other clans as he could about the benefits of banding together to build a village to keep each other, the children safe. And if he followed up on that niggling thought in the back of his mind that Butsuma wasn't interested in _only_ the Sharingan, he might find a common ground to lay the foundations of his peace on.

With such a combined front they could easily subdue the Senju by force or, at least, limit their level of threat.

It wasn't ideal. There were more chances of things going wrong but - Hashirama could have his village and there was a possibility of the Senju not getting completely wiped out.

* * *

Tobirama stared a little helplessly at the tangle of children spread out around the irori in his sitting room where a small fire was still burning in the darkness.

When he had fallen asleep earlier, still recuperating from the nasty gash across his hip that hadn't healed right, there had been only two and both were regular inhabitants of his home by now. He could even spot them easily enough not far from one of the irori’s corners, close to Kawarama and Itama’s little shrine – one that Anija had built after Tobirama’s design.

Tobirama had always kept an eye on the children, especially those orphaned and even among them, he felt slightly more obliged toward Haru. Perhaps it was because the death of the boy’s parents had been a key in the chain of events that had eventually ended with Anija’s defection. He hadn’t been able to get rid of the kid and it had gotten only worse in the month that Father had forbidden him from entering his lab.

Not that he really minded. It was comforting not to be alone in here, even if Haru sneaked in without permission.

The mess on Haru’s head that honestly didn’t deserve to be called hair – it’s only redeeming quality that it was the same shade of brown that Kawarama’s used to be – stood out strongly even in the darkness. He had wrapped himself around the kid next to him like an octopus. The sight was rather amusing considering that Haru had been really hostile toward the new foreign child in these past couple of weeks.

Curiously, Tobirama walked closer when he thought that he saw something flicker and frowned at the frost gleaming on the other boy’s fingertips where they were sprawled over Haru’s chest. He gently removed them from there, pausing when the child’s head twitched momentarily. He huffed, mildly amused, before crouching down and adjusting the blankets on those two.

It had taken him so long to convince Father to let him keep Fuyuhiro.

Tobirama didn’t know where Father had acquired that odd group of shinobi no mono from that had been put at the farthest edge of their compound. They had just shown up with Takeshi's squad one day. Neither could he understand why they were so compliant about the Senju researching their kekkei genkais and conducting – potentially harmful – experiments on them. They almost seemed apathetic about it, which was a little discomfiting; he was too used to clans protecting their bloodline secrets to death.

Father claimed that they were refugees from Mizu willing to do anything for a safe place to live in. He wasn’t sure whether to believe that or not. It wasn’t impossible, and a lot of people had been fleeing Mizu recently. Yet, they were _shinobi._ It was odd for Father to let strangers live in close quarters to kin and odder for those strangers to trust other shinobi in foreign lands. Not that he had voiced his doubts, though. Nothing good ever came from that. Besides, it was nice to have willing test subjects for once.

But the _child_. Adults were one thing – easier to kill, easier to use, evoked less hesitation and guilt. A small child, though. One clearly terrified and without family among the other Mizu refugees? No. The mere idea made him sick to his stomach.

Of course, Father hadn’t been thrilled about his request. Far from it. It already displeased him that Tobirama spent so much of his time on the Senju children. But Tobirama was learning which tone to pitch his voice in when pleading with Father, where and how to touch to take off the discontent edges, how to present himself to distract Father from all the reasons of _why not_. It was awkward and clumsy and always left him reeling, but it worked. What was a little discomfort in the wake of a child's safety?

Haru and Fuyuhiro he was used to.

Letting his gaze wander over the other shapes, six he believed, he hummed thoughtfully. When exactly had these children started to sneak into his house like this? And _why_? He taught them occasionally when time permitted him to, but he wasn’t the warmest or nicest person to be around.

Tobirama sighed as he felt Hitomi’s chakra flare outside. A fair warning that he was taking too long. With one last look at his uninvited and invited little guests he slipped out as quietly as he could. Bitter winter chill and a disapproving scowl were what he was met with, and he ignored both, making his way toward the labs. Perhaps he could have worn something else than the sandals – the snow was already soaking his socks uncomfortably.

“It wouldn’t kill you to wear a coat, at the very least,” Hitomi grumbled as he fell into step next to him.

“Hm.” He wasn’t even sure why the guy cared. Then again, he wasn’t sure why Hitomi did anything that he did – when and how he had gotten over whatever childhood grudge he had held against Tobirama and instead, molded into his personal shadow? Was it pity? He certainly got a lot of that although, no one stuck to him as persistently as Hitomi.

The track toward the labs was silent and he was grateful for that because, _kami_. He had felt a somewhat uneasy since late afternoon without knowing why. Now, the closer he stepped to the labs, specifically the building next to his own that belonged to Elder Inabi, his senses itched in warning. There were warding seals placed around it, he realized, and as soon as he was past them, he faltered. His vision blurred for a heartbeat and the world around him started to spin.

Pressing his eyes shut tightly, he rubbed over his temples and forced his legs to keep moving, swiftly stepping out of Hitomi’s reach. What kind of chakra signature was this? It slithered over his skin like slime, tickling his nerves uncomfortably and leaving him dizzy. Once inside, he was able to ignore the spinning but couldn’t quite catch the gasp ripping out of his throat.

“Ah, Tobirama. Finally. What took you so long?”

Hayato, who hadn't been allowed to accompany his squad in the recent mission that Tōka had handpicked, was kneeling in the middle of room. Tables and other utensils had been pushed into the walls to make space and the stench of blood and sweat was heavy in the stuffy air. Hayato had his forehead pressed into the dirty ground, shoulders shaking with effort, soft moans of pain coming from him. There were – _arms_. Two extra arms sprouting from each side of his back although… they were bony and charred black and he could smell burnt flesh.

So distracted was he that it took him a long moment to notice Elder Inabi furiously scribbling on a scroll as he paced up and down behind his grandson. Takeshi was standing guard over an unmoving form in one corner and when Tobirama stared harder, he could recognize it as one of the Mizu refugees – the kunoichi with the poisonous feathers, if he remembered correctly. Hadn't her report mentioned something about wings?

He flinched when Father’s rough fingers wrapped around his hand to pull him forward. Not to Hayato, he realized with relief, but the table in front him where several neat scrolls were laid out messily. Tobirama blinked and stared at his father, his stomach churning sickeningly. “What is this?”

Father nudged him forward, a hand burning against his lower back, and pointed at the text on top. “We tried to implant her kekkei genkai into Hayato. He’s fond of his poisons, after all. But clearly, something went wrong.”

“To…?” Tobirama leaned forward and let his gaze roam over the words, eyes widening the farther he got. What _was_ this? How had Father gotten his hands on such research? Who did conduct this, considering how taboo it was to try and steal another clan’s bloodline? Those seals…

“Fascinating, isn’t it?” Father was watching him intently, closely enough to see the smallest of changes in his facial expression. Knew him well enough to recognize his curiosity. “Not perfect, obviously. I’m sure you could rectify that, though.”

He tried to swallow around the sudden, thick lump blocking his throat. “What do you intend to do with this?”

The smile curling around Father’s lips could have almost been classified as soft if not for the sharpness of his gaze. “Win a war.”

This was utter madness. Researching kekkei genkai was one thing. Replicating the mokuton for Father was one thing – it _did_ belong to their clan, after all. But this… Wasn’t this like trying to defy nature itself? There was a reason why these things were labelled forbidden, surely. And looking at Hayato’s pitiful state he felt validated in that belief.

 _The sheer possibilities though_.

“It’s just a little experiment as of now,” Father said into the growing silence. “But with Hashirama gone, we _are_ losing this war. The clan _will_ die.”

Tobirama's mind flickered to the children huddled together at his home, and his chest clenched painfully.

There were other ways to survive, of course. Even win. But – this was intriguing. He had never seen anything like this. Never heard of it. There was shame mixing into his curiosity, but he squashed it down and gingerly reached for the scroll, thoughts already racing.

Father chuckled, clearly pleased with his decision. As if he had had a real choice in the matter; the illusion didn't hurt, though. He instinctively tilted his face up as Father pressed closer and kissed him, long and hard. Out of the corner of his eyes, Tobirama could see Elder Inabi turn away from them stiffly. In the back of his mind, he could feel Hitomi’s chakra sour in displeasure. But they didn’t say anything and he let it all roll off him, attention drifting toward his new project. It was harder to concentrate with Father watching and those wandering hands on him but he was getting better at burying his discomfort.

If you couldn't go against it, then you simply learned how to go with the tide lest you drown.

It was fine. It _would_ be fine, eventually.

He would learn to pretend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So. Yeah. Last one. The whole set-up has gotten a liiittle out of hand and more complex than initially planned. But, what can you do? ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ And, oh, Hashirama, Hashirama, what is you doing? щ(゜ロ゜щ) 
> 
> I'll see if I can post the next chapter later this week. Depends on how long my editing will take, I suppose. But I am _really_ excited about moving this forward, lol.


	5. Surrender.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We jump 4 years into the future (from the last chapters) :)

Madara saw the exact moment Tobirama’s attention slipped away from him. It was subtle but his sharingan was enhancing even the smallest of shift in the boy.

The Senju’s stance loosened ever so slightly, just a twitch in his arms, and the grip around his sword trembled. His other hand fell from his injured side, allowing blood to dribble freely into the water under his soles. And his one-eyed gaze was fixed on something over Madara’s shoulders, just a way off the angle he usually focused on when they fought; which they rarely did.

Madara could have struck in that moment.

Every muscle in his body was itching to. It was such a great opportunity to end the life of this mad _Oni_ for good. After all, he was the steady pillar that kept the Senju clan standing strong in opposition despite their pathetic numbers. The one who enabled them to be a constant threat for the peace he and Hashirama had been working for. Who had probably the most Uchiha blood on his hands out of all of them by now. He stared at the cloth covering the Demon’s right eye, thought of Izuna with a bandage on that same spot, still fighting the iron grip of death and the bout of hysterics his little brother had been lost in the rare moments he had regained consciousness, and bile and hatred warred in his throat. The one who had dared to _steal_ from them.

There would have been nothing more satisfying than to drive his gunbai through that chest where no heart would be beating. Senju Butsuma’s reaction to seeing his twisted creation fall would be a delicious bonus.

But _Hashirama_ \- Madara grit his teeth until they hurt. No. Not even Hashirama could save his brother now.

But the bastard wasn't paying attention! As if Madara needed to take advantage of the Senju's distraction to win. Ridiculous. And there would be no real satisfaction if Tobirama was caught by surprise instead of being fully aware that he was about to die.

So, instead, against every instinct screeching in his head, Madara shifted, never leaving his opponent completely out of his sight, and tried to find what had him so distracted. It didn’t take him long.

Near the Naka river, close to the spot that used to be Madara and Hashirama's meeting point all those years ago, Hashirama's sword was still clashing with Butsuma's. It was an odd and unfamiliar sight, one that had something uncomfortable twist in the pit of his stomach.

Hashirama had helped before. He was always there to offer healing for the injured and advise for the fighting - as long as an errant and recklessly dangerous mission or a meeting with another clan didn't keep him busy. But he had never actively taken part in any fight against his former clan, let alone against his once family. Left them to Madara and Izuna, probably knowing that Madara at least would be hesitant to go for a killing blow if given the chance. Butsuma and Tobirama were formidable opponents though, sneakier than any water spirit trying to drown their victim and more ruthless than any Shinigami coming to claim souls. Their clan as a whole might have been at a disadvantage for years now, but the clan Head and his Heir… Sometimes, Madara was convinced that they were truly demons in human form, too twisted and cruel to be anything else. And there were other Senju to be careful of, some who even looked the part of a monster. Killing them was a hard task.

Madara wasn't sure what exactly had changed Hashirama's mind, why he had insisted on accompanying them to this battle. Was it that hut they had raided the other day, full of strange devices, stranger smells and the bodies of children? Was it the fact that those deranged Senju weren't simply trying to develop ways of stealing specific kekkei genkais but were actually actively using them with horrifying results? Was it the rumors that they were dabbling with the dead?

Was it what they had done to Izuna – and kami knew how many others before him – leaving him neither dead nor alive, handicapped and one-eyed?

It was disorienting how he struggled at times to read his friend.

Madara frowned at the scene unfolding in front of him.

Butsuma’s bare arms and the right side of his face were covered by a layer of wood, almost like an armor with the difference that the man winced every time those parts were as much as brushed. Roots and veins were winding around his feet, obedient dogs and yet, they shrank away every time Hashirama came in range – didn’t lash out and attack like they did with everyone else. It left Butsuma no other choice but to rely on his usual abilities rather than that mokuton imitation.

But what was truly astounding, and probably what had caught Tobirama’s attention, was Butsuma’s reaction to Hashirama. With every flicker of Hashirama’s wrist that had the trees on the side bend to his will, with every seal that had vines try to strangle Butsuma, the man’s body _convulsed_. It was strange. And clearly, exhausting because Butsuma’s movements were sloppy and slow, made worse by his left arm bent at an unnatural angle, completely unmoving. Hashirama chased every move of Butsuma’s, his ferocity not lessening in the least, the killing intent around him so thick that even Madara with his limited sensory skills and this far away could feel it like a brick wall collapsing over him.

Hashirama had been determined before the fight but nowhere near this furious.

And then, he recognized it - the moment Butsuma’s fate was sealed: One of his _own_ roots got a hold of Butsuma’s wobbly legs as his body hunched forward, caught off-guard by another far stronger seizure, and Hashirama hesitated only for a second before starting to form a familiar seal.

Tobirama saw it as well. He twitched forward – and jerked back as quickly, mouth set into a grim line, feet planted where he stood.

Madara blinked at him in confusion. Wasn't he going to-?

The strangled scream echoed through the clearing followed by the sudden hush that fell over the battlefield. He didn’t have to turn around to verify that Senju Butsuma was dead. So, Madara just observed the White Oni, took in his carefully blank expression, the cold sharpness in his visible eye, the tension that slowly eased out of his muscles. Was it resignation? _Relief_?

Madara remembered when this same bastard had slit open Tajima’s throat, leaving him and Izuna unable to do anything more than watch their father choke on his own blood. Remembered the disbelief and denial, the grief overtaking his senses so much that the rest of that confrontation was nothing but a blur.

Uchiha Tajima might not have been a good man, but he had been his father regardless, and he had mourned.

A ball of hot, burning resentment uncoiled deep within him.

“You really are a piece of shit, aren’t you?” His voice was hoarse and shaky from repressed anger.

Tobirama glanced at him then, expression still blank, head tipped to the side ever so slightly. He didn’t really acknowledge him, and it just infuriated him that much more. What the fuck was wrong with this freak? His fucking father was dead, and he didn’t even react? Was it beneath him to be _humane_?

Senju Tōka was the first to react. She left Hikaku behind on the branch they had been fighting on at the other end of the river and landed softly next to Butsuma’s still body floating on the surface of the water. She pressed two fingers against the side of his mangled throat. Hashirama let her but didn’t step away nor did he let his guard down. Madara furrowed his brows in utter confusion because what was the use? A branch had pierced Butsuma’s stomach, leaving behind a wide, messy hole, the water underneath turning red as well, and two more had punctured his lungs. There was no way that the bastard was alive.

Tōka lifted her chin, gaze searching for and finding Tobirama, and nodded grimly. It prompted Tobirama to walk forward, only faltering momentarily when Hashirama’s sharp, warning glare settled on him – was that hurt flickering over his blank features? Surely not, impossible – but it didn't stop him. Madara let him go warily.

He knelt down next to his cousin, stiff and tensed, and the fingers he reached out for Butsuma's neck were trembling subtly. It was strange how the Senju around them only stared at their new clan Head like unmoving statues. Maybe they were just unable to process the fact that their leader was dead? Madara crept closer and peered curiously at Tobirama. The tight lines around the corner of his mouth had softened and he exhaled slowly, stiffness lifting from his shoulders. He… did he look _relieved_? Madara could taste bile on his tongue.

Fucking disgusting.

Tobirama stood up in one fluid motion, Tōka following suit, and sheathed his sword. The sound was almost deafening.

“Retreat,” he said so softly that it wouldn’t have been heard if not for the eerie silence shrouding them.

Said silence exploded into murmurs and flurry movements, the Senju broken out of whatever stupor they had been caught in, and-

“Retreat?” An older man, someone Madara distinctly remembered to have been Butsuma's right hand man, spat. He was red with rage, the katana in his grip shaking dangerously. A young Uchiha, barely a boy, was laying at his feet in a bloody mess. “They kill your father and we just retreat?!”

Tōka stepped in front of Tobirama, an ugly mask of fury settled over her face. “ _Yes_. Shouldn't we always follow our leader's orders and please the kami with our observance of duty?" she taunted. It had the man recoil as if struck. "That means if your clan Head tells you to retreat, you fucking retreat, shithead!”

It wasn’t what the man wanted to hear but he was pulled back by two others before he could argue any further. The Senju disappeared one after another until only Tōka, Hitomi – always hovering close to Tobirama, like a shadow – and Tobirama were the only ones remaining. Tobirama looked back at Butsuma’s dead body one last time, hesitating, before he disappeared in a cloud of smoke, the other two gone in the very same instant.

The tension lifted from the clearing.

Madara looked around, making sure that it really were only Uchiha left, and let out a long, exhausted sigh. With one hand on his hip, he turned toward Hashirama, lips pursed in distaste. “Your brother is pretty fucked up.” Not that Madara wasn't ecstatic about Butsuma's death - fucking finally! - nor did he want to keep fighting. But what normal human being was relieved when their father died? Especially considering that Tobirama had been his father's favorite, his fucking pride.

All the anger had evaporated out of Hashirama, leaving only tiredness around his eyes and a sadness so intense, so crushing that Madara internally shrunk in on himself. Even after years, this was such a foreign look on his friend. He despised it. Despised those Senju for still having such a strong hold on Hashirama.

“I wish it hadn’t come to this,” Hashirama muttered, gaze focused on Butsuma. He was going to cry any moment, wasn’t he? God dammit. “I don’t want to have to also _kill_ -” He choked off, lowering his chin, dark hair obscuring him from view.

Madara huffed and looked away.

Butsuma might be gone but the bigger threat was still alive, and he needed to die. The Senju needed to be crushed for Hashirama and Madara’s peace to mean something, whether his friend liked it or not. And surely, he had realized that as well considering what he had just done? _Kinslaying_.

Hashirama had never seen eye to eye with his father and still, it had taken him years to be ready to fight let alone deal a killing blow. Madara had no idea whether Hashirama used to be close to his brother, although he clearly cared in some ways. They were so different, and Hashirama had left without Tobirama, hadn’t he? Yet, familial duty didn’t ask for love, even if you weren't associated with said family anymore.

It didn’t matter, in the end. Hashirama wouldn’t have to do anything. Senju Tobirama was his to kill, and Madara couldn’t wait.

Maybe the Oni’s death would soothe over Izuna’s constant, scorching pain.

* * *

_Deaddeaddeaddead_

Tobirama let the sound of gentle waves nudging against his ears drown out his thoughts as best as possible. The water of this pond that Father had created for him last year was incredibly cold. His clothes were stuck to his back like a second skin, iciness creeping into his bones and soothing the still burning cut in his side. It was welcoming, the cold, as was the numbness that was spreading in its wake.

 _Dead_.

He had seen Father’s body being pierced, all that blood splashing, had felt no pulse while warmth was leaving Father’s corpse.

It didn’t feel real.

How could it? Father was always there even when he wasn’t – Tobirama could feel him, his presence a steady pulse under Tobirama’s skin every waking moment. The air around him still smelled like sweet Tsubaki and sake and dust, sometimes faintly and sometimes strong enough that he was sure Father was going to walk up to him any moment.

How could he be dead when Tobirama could still sense him _everywhere_? Death didn't seem as inevitable as Father.

“Tobi, you need to get out of there. Please?”

His visible eye drifted toward the side where Tōka was waiting for him, her knees slightly touching the edge of the pond as she watched him full of hesitancy and sadness. He loved her, he truly did, but her pity made his skin crawl sickeningly. What was there to pity? Why couldn’t she ever stop looking at him like this?

“C’mon! There are decisions you need to make.”

Tobirama snapped his gaze back toward the dark, cloudy sky. “Father would want us to continue fighting.”

“Your father is _dead_ ,” Tōka hissed, voice sharp and venomous, startling him out of his numb trance. “It doesn’t matter what the bastard would have wanted! _You_ are clan Head. What do _you_ want?”

The question stunned him.

The last time Tōka that had asked him what he wanted had been not so long after Anija had left. She had found him in his brother's futon, curled in old bedsheets and blankets, dirty and crying and scared – after the first time Father had insisted he stay with him in their old home – and she had been frantic and desperate to help, had asked, _Anything, Tobi, anything, tell me, what do you want, what can I do to make it better?_ And he had been delirious and hurt and terrified, so, so terrified, only one thing on his mind, _Anija, please, I just want Anija, I_ -

He remembered the ensuing struggle, how Tōka had tried to calm him down from whatever madness had overtaken him but unable to because he refused to be touched or to listen to excuses because all he wanted was _Anija_ and she had _promised_ and why couldn’t he have his brother? _But he doesn’t want you!_ She had screamed in a fit of desperate rage, freezing him effectively.

Tobirama didn’t think he had heard any crueler words directed at him. And there had been many throughout his life but this… Tōka had regretted them as soon as she had spoken them, of course. But Tobirama had never forgotten, could still hear them ringing in his head, and Tōka had never again asked what he wanted, nor had he ever told her.

Now, though… He was allowed to want, right? Needed to make decisions for the clan.

Did he want to keep fighting? And if he did, would his brother stand in front of him like he had stood in front of Father earlier today? He thought of the cutting glare Hashirama had regarded him with, of Hashirama's oppressive chakra scorching his senses, distracting him even from the fire in his own chest. Tobirama wouldn’t mind if his brother were the one to kill him.

But the _clan_.

Or whatever remained of it. The few shinobi, the injured ones, the women, the elderly, the _children_. Hashirama had left them when he was supposed to protect them. Father had dragged them to the edge of existence, soured relationships with other clans and brought them to their knees in front of the Uchiha.

Tobirama _couldn’t_ abandon them as well. They depended on him and no one else would care for the Senju. They would all celebrate their demise.

Fighting meant death. They had barely managed to keep themselves standing against Madara and Izuna, struggled as the Hatake crippled them economically and wavered as they were driven farther and farther into their forest while the Hyūga encroached on their lands. Now, with Hashirama getting involved in the fights, it would end in a massacre.

And Tobirama was so tired of the fighting. He was tired of everything.

He sat up abruptly, let the shaky water surface calm his tentatively rattling nerves for a moment before heaving himself to his feet. He ignored how disgustingly his clothes were sticking to him or how the cold wind was latching onto the wetness and entering his numb limbs. Tōka stood up as well, her shoulders sagging slightly in relief, and fell into step next to him.

A crowd had gathered in front of Father’s house. Tension hung heavily around them, and he could pick up on the nervousness and fear simmering under that tension. There had been burials just hours ago, he knew, but he hadn’t been able to force himself to attend. But the residuals of grief still lingered in the air. And judging gazes were burning him, hotter and more intense the closer he came.

He ignored them with years of experience and instead, stared at the handful of children huddled behind the line of Elders at the front. Took in how quiet and solemn they were, noticed little Haru’s mop of greyish white hair and the shaky smile directed at him as Fuyuhiro hovered anxiously behind him, and his heart hurt.

They shouldn’t have to be so scared about their tomorrow.

Elder Himiko was leading the line, head lowered, not meeting his gaze. There was a note of shame coloring her chakra as it always did around him. _And what will you tell him_ , she had asked him that one time he, desperate and hurting, had tried to go after Hashirama, _that will not shame you and our whole clan? Do you want to bring us low in front of our enemies? Clan secrets remain within the clan, Tobirama. It’s for the best, do you understand?_

Setsuna-san nodded at him grimly, and he could pick up on how the man relaxed upon seeing him. _You shouldn’t anger your father such_ , he had admonished him that first and last time he had to tend to Tobirama after father had activated the seals on his face, _just do whatever he says like a dutiful son ought to. Keep him happy, that’ll keep you and everyone else safe_.

Elder Inabi on Himiko-san’s other side was brimming with anger. He knew what Tobirama was about to do, they all could guess, and he loathed it. _Stop being so pathetically weak!_ The man had screamed at him after the third time Tobirama’s body had rejected as sharingan, leaving him in a puddle of blood and sweat and his own vomit. _You’re doing this for the clan and you better do it right the next time or this insolence will have consequences!_

The other two remaining Elders were as upset as Inabi-san, but they were resigned to whatever Tobirama had planned, chakra calm and aloof. He hadn’t had much to do with them, only ever noted their disdainful glances whenever Father hadn’t been looking.

In the end, it didn’t matter, did it? With the state that their clan was in, the Elders couldn’t oppose his decision no matter how much they hated it. They didn’t need to add division to the list of issues plaguing them, after all.

Hitomi stepped out of the crowd and, without any prompting, draped his heavy fur-coat over Tobirama’s wet back. It was too large but warm and comforting. Didn’t smell like Tsubaki mixed with dust and sake. Tobirama inclined his head in gratitude.

“Bring me parchment and seals.” He looked at Father’s looming house, bile slowly crawling up his throat. “Not here, though.”

Hitomi bowed and disappeared.

“You have made a decision then?” Inabi-san asked scathingly.

Tobirama stared at him impassively before letting his gaze roam over every Senju that had gathered here. They were a pitiful sight, were they not? Most of their shinobi dead, and what remained were mostly those unfit to fight, elderly people, and so many children. Theirs used to be one of the most formidable clans in Hi no Kuni, once upon a time. Now, they were nothing more than a shadow of their former glory, trying its best to remain in the sun lest they get swallowed up by the darkness for good.

But every single person that was still living was worth fighting for.

“Yes,” he said softly. “We’re going to surrender.”

He didn’t bother trying to filter through the maelstrom of fury and hope and relief and fear his senses were attacked by. No one said anything, after all, and as long as they didn’t oppose it didn’t matter how unhappy he would make them with this. Tobirama had never been popular among his clansmen, anyway. Their pity he might have gained over the years, though that was more shameful than anything else, but respect was another matter. He wasn’t Hashirama, bright and incredibly strong and talented, he didn’t exude warmth and hope, nor could he persuade anyone of his dreams and ideals. He was just himself, the second choice, the spare, the odd freak who had never really fit in with them, who had driven their leader into doing unspeakable things and enabled his crimes.

But he was all they had.

And he wasn’t going to let them die.

When he walked through crowd parting for him, Tōka still closely behind him and the steps of small feet hurrying toward him, it was Inabi-san again who spoke up. “Even if we surrender, do you think that will be it? You will have to make a lot of concessions.”

Tobirama halted.

“They won’t trust us. Who knows, they might just kill us all, anyway. And if not, then you will have to compromise our position to earn that trust.”

"We'd need to _have_ a fucking position to compromise it," he heard Tōka huff under her breath.

Of course. The Senju had earned a reputation by now, a nasty and ugly one. Even if they surrendered and agreed to be part of Hashirama's peace, of that village he had begun to work on… Tobirama would have to concede a lot in order to get them accepted. But what did they have to lose? Whether they continued to fight or simply tried to fruitlessly stay out of everyone's way, death was what awaited them. This way, there was a chance.

 _Compassion is weakness_ , Father used to say, _you choose death before losing your pride, Tobirama. The Senju either win by crushing their enemies or we die, nothing else is acceptable_.

“It doesn’t matter,” he said as he resumed walking. Two sets of small hands latched on Hitomi's coat on each side of his and the words came out more easily. “As long as we live, nothing matters.” And if he had to _beg_ in front of the Uchiha and Hashirama, he would, pride be damned.

Father’s voice was a taunting cacaphony in his head, getting louder and more grating with each step. He didn’t falter again, regardless. It would drown him instead of peaceful slumber at night, but for now he had things to do.

When he found himself in his own office later, writing down words on a parchment under the watchful gazes of an unhappy Tōka and an eerily quiet Hitomi, the seals on his face burnt almost warningly through his skin. His hand was shaking with each stroke, his stomach revolting.

* * *

Izuna’s skin was too warm under his touch. It was unnerving since his brother’s body temperature usually was on the cooler side and he always struggled to get himself appropriately warm. But he wasn’t thrashing anymore… Madara wasn’t sure whether he preferred this eerie stillness, though.

Leaning back against the wall, fingers gently carding through Izuna’s sweaty hair, Madara watched Hashirama on the other side of the futon. He had been on his way to show Hashirama an official letter from the Senju when Izuna had had another seizure, the second this week already. They came unexpectedly, one worse than the other, but Hashirama had learned to deal with them – although, Izuna remained unconscious. The infection caused by his missing eye had healed as had the other numerous wounds littering his body, and yet. _Destroyed chakra coils_ , Hashirama had said almost reverently after a thorough exhausting check-up that first day, the sentence still echoing in Madara’s ears weeks after; he didn’t want to think on its implications.

He watched his friend as something heavy curled around his heart. Madara had read the message before handing it over to Hashirama and knew exactly which words caused Hashirama’s eyes to widen in disbelief and which ones caused that glimmer of tentative hope into his features.

And he didn’t like it.

Hashirama had never quite been the same ever since leaving his clan. Of course, he remained cheerful and optimistic, especially when he was trying to convince other shinobi no mono of his idea of peace, and he had never really stopped to dream about a better world. But he was subdued, lost in his thoughts more often than not, had lost the ease of his youth. And, _kami_ , he could be ruthless, something Madara had never realized when befriending him - the single-mindedness with which he pursued his goal, how he didn't shy away from using the Senju’s atrocities to gain sympathies for his own cause, convincingly painting them as a threat to all the clans in Hi no Kuni and something people had to unite against – it had been terrifyingly impressive. There was always some guilt, of course, and regret whenever he counted his dead kin after a battle that he hadn’t joined. But never enough to go back on his decision.

Sometimes, Madara stared at him and saw a complete stranger. Then, he looked more closely and recognized the silly, naive boy buried deep down who kept hoping that his former clan would come back to their senses.

Those were the moments in which he loathed the Senju the most.

"Say, Hashirama?" His friend didn't lift his gaze from the letter but hummed in question. "I've been wondering. During your fight, did Butsuma say anything to you?"

Hashirama's expression tightened. Warily, Madara ceased his motions though never removed his hand from Izuna’s hair – needed that physical reassurance – and made sure that wooden floor wasn't cracking. "He... said a lot of things." Madara didn't prod and waited patiently for his friend to continue. Hashirama sighed, putting the letter down, head lowered. "The usual, you know? How I'm a disgrace and shame, which is true, I suppose."

"You're not a disgrace for doing the right thing," Madara hissed. Not many people in Hashirama's position could have abandoned their own clan after realizing that they were breaking terrible taboos. He knew for a fact that he himself couldn't have done it, loyalty to kin engraved into his very soul. And that was a crucial difference between them both, between Hashirama and most other shinobi, something impressive, belying an incredible strength of character.

"I don't..." Hashirama trailed off with a little huff of frustration. "He also said that I should just kill them all. That the Senju are not made for peace, that-" Large, wet brown eyes fixated on Madara, so suddenly that his breath hitched in surprise. "Father's mokuton. That... it was _mine_. I could feel it in him."

Dread trickled into the pit of his stomach as Madara processed this information. What exactly did that mean? He knew that the Senju were stealing strange kekkei genkai, it had been a vital factor in their survival strategy - and it was quite disconcerting entering a battlefield and never being sure what ability a person whom you have been fighting for years might have acquired recently. One of the most revolting ones Madara could remember was Senju Hayato and his poisonous four arms. But no one knew how they were doing it, and why, if they had succeeded, only a handful of them were equipped with new powers.

"I asked him," Hashirama continued, voice trembling. "And he laughed in my face. I don't even remember when they could have gotten my mokuton. How?"

Madara winced in sympathy. What would it feel like to have someone try and gauge his eyes out to transplant them into their own body? He let his gaze fall on Izuna’s pale face, the left upper half of it completely bandaged – remembered his little brother stumbling into the compound, bloody and beaten and hysterical when anyone tried to touch; one eye gone. Disgust crawled over his skin. No. He didn't need to find out what it was like to be violated in such a way. And not even remembering when it happened? Kami, death seemed too big a mercy for Butsuma.

And Senju Tobirama was like Senju Butsuma – even worse because of that sharp mind of his. There was no doubt in Madara's mind about who was behind developing their kekkei genkai stealing methods. Hashirama most definitely was aware as well.

His friend reached for the letter with trembling fingers and took a few calming breaths. "Father was so sure that Tobirama would rather die than accept peace..."

Wouldn't he? That Oni was foremost loyal.

Yet, he wanted peace, all of a sudden? After they had just killed his father? It hadn't even been a full day. Madara refused to believe in the sincerity of his words. He could have understood the surrender from anyone else who wasn't such a warmonger, but going as far as to claim that he wanted to join the village? Besides, what peace could he even be asking for? He had bathed in Uchiha blood, had stolen Izuna’s sharingan, was involved in every shady shit his fucking clan was associated with – probably initiated most of it. No Uchiha would accept just forgetting that. None of their allies and anyone who wanted to join their yet to be founded village would want to be involved with him or any Senju.

Madara wouldn’t accept, especially not with his little brother still delirious in the clutches of looming death.

Tobirama had to be aware of that.

But as Madara observed the soft edges of Hashirama’s features, the tint of happiness trying to slowly creep in as if scared to be seen just yet, he felt himself pause.

“We’ll meet up with them,” he said, going against every instinct that was telling him what a stupid idea this was. Though, it made Hashirama smile, a genuine, sweet smile despite its shakiness, and that was worth it, wasn’t it?

Madara would listen to what Tobirama had to say. And wait for the boy to slip up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :) 
> 
> Btw, my tumblr side blog (still trying to get the hang of these) if anyone's interested in chatting: [tozhan](https://tozhan.tumblr.com/)


	6. Concessions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the amazing feedback ❤️ And we keep moving forward :)

The Uchiha Elders were the hardest to wear down – although, the Hatake ones hadn’t been impressed with Madara’s decision either, but Hatake Kana, despite having reservations herself and simmering in her own resentment, knew how to handle them. Madara wished he could claim the same. It wasn’t that he didn’t hold any sway over his Elder council, but they were stubborn old crooks who turned terrifyingly vicious when it came to the Senju.

“You’re going to spite on your brother’s suffering just like that?”

Madara put the treaty, the final draft he had been tinkering with long into the night before, down on his desk with more force than necessary. Wounded anger drowned whatever guilt tried to rear its head at the mere mention of his brother, something achingly common by now. But the triumphant glint in aunt Kokoro’s eyes told him that she _knew_ she had hit a nerve; she always aimed to.

Behind her, her husband, Elder Kōsuke, nodded in agreement, his long mane of silvery white hair moving along with each jerky motion. “You need to reconsider your approach.”

“We’ve been through this,” Madara hissed through clenched teeth. He couldn’t hear it anymore. Why were these two still putting up a fight? The others had eventually conceded, grudgingly satisfied with all the conditions and restrictions that had been put into the treaty. But these spiteful, stubborn old crooks-

“Is it because of your _friend_?” Kōsuke-san asked, lacing _friend_ with so much venom that it had Madara reel back in surprise. “Did he beg you to show mercy to his clan?”

This _was_ mainly for Hashirama but Hashirama hadn’t asked him to accept Tobirama’s surrender. That had been Madara’s own decision, and contrary to some Elders' concerns, Hashirama never told him what to do with his own clan. “They capitulated. Why should I keep fighting someone who won’t fight back anymore?”

“Then put them into shackles!” the old man roared and kicked the zabuton in front of him hard enough for it to fly against the leg of Madara’s desk. His sharingan flickered faintly, long past its usefulness, but bright with unrestraint hatred only emphasized by the veins visible on his pale wrinkly face. “This is _war_ , Madara. The victor takes spoils, he doesn’t make allies out of his enemies!”

Madara's stomach churned with dread. “You would have preferred me to take them as – what? Slaves?”

Kokoro laid a hand on Kōsuke’s shoulder, silencing whatever retort he had ready. When she looked at him, it was patronizing as if he was still that unruly child she had helped discipline. “Nothing else is acceptable if you refuse to eliminate them. If you give them any form of autonomy, no matter how minimal, they will eventually rise against you once again because defeat nurtures resentment and thirst for revenge. Especially if you make peace with them without demanding repercussions for their deeds.”

She wasn't wrong. After all, that was how things worked: enslaving your defeated enemies was a rational way to prevent future retaliations as much as possible. And in that light, he understood everyone’s dissatisfaction with him. As much as the Uchiha and everyone else who had been at the receiving end of the Senju's atrocities wanted revenge, they also wanted assurance that their clan, their families would not have to live in fear of any retaliation in the future. Of course, Madara understood because he was plagued by the same doubts and uncertainties, wondering every waking hour whether he was about to make a grave mistake.

But - in the kind of world that Hashirama and he had envisioned, there was no place for traditional practices such as slavery. They wanted people to live in peace and harmony, and having a whole group stripped off their independence, subdued by force for as long as they were alive only to serve the Uchiha... Wouldn't that eventually create toxicity? Wouldn't it justify doing the same to others who might oppose them despite not being on the Senju's level of inhumanity?

Besides, the Senju had held true to their word so far – no attacks, no traps, not a single confrontation with any of them ever since Madara had sent out his reply to Tobirama's letter. They hadn’t given him any reason to lash out yet.

“What do you want me to demand? Aside from spoils of war,” he added, frustrated.

“You need to bring the White Oni to heel,” his aunt said. “With that _eye-stealer_ leading them there will be nothing but doom at the end. You cannot expect every one of your shinobi to tolerate it.”

The thinly veiled threat in her tone was not lost to Madara. He leaned back in his chair and sighed tiredly. Another thing that had kept the tensions within the Uchiha compound high and crackling for days now. Nothing he would do about Tobirama would be enough – nothing short of the boy’s head.

Madara could relate so much it hurt.

“And don’t tell me that _you_ have already forgiven him. Does Izuna mean so little to you, nephew mine?”

“Don’t you fucking _dare_!” He was standing on his feet before he even realized it, the chair toppling over behind him with a dull thud. “ _Izuna_ -”

“Could die any moment,” she cut him off sharply. He flinched, unable to stop himself. “From what I have heard from Hashirama and our own healers, his eyes are ruined. Whether Izuna survives or not, Senju Tobirama has sentenced him to a life of misery. What does that mean to you?”

His hands balled into his yukata at his sides, trembling, tearing into the material. As if he didn’t know. He had been there for most of the examinations, heard the diagnosis first, he was the one spending his nights at Izuna’s side, praying for his little brother to wake up no matter in what condition.

The only reason that Madara had been able to work on this kami forsaken treaty was that the Senju’s input wasn’t needed, he didn't have to deal with them personally yet – they either agreed or disagreed to whatever the Uchiha and their allies demanded at the end of this annoyingly exhausting process of persuading himself and others to take the path of the least bloodshed.

And it wasn’t like peace with them wasn’t beneficial to the Uchiha at all. Of course, if they kept fighting, they would win, but the Senju wouldn’t go down quietly and why risk any more lives if those bastards were ready to play nice? As much as he loathed it.

“Taking back the eye alone isn’t enough,” Kōsuke-san chimed in when Madara failed to respond. “That won’t undo the harm already caused.”

 _It won’t magically heal Izuna_. There was nothing he could have said even if he wanted to, his throat was too tight and breathing hurt.

“Enslavement would ensure you full control over Senju Tobirama.” There was a flicker of a familiar chakra signature right outside his door flaring up and cooling down just as quickly, startling him back into full awareness. “Since you refuse that, you have to give us something else. And I assure you, it is not only the two us who want that. Others might go along with you now but they will act out at a later stage if you do not address their concerns properly.”

Aunt Kokoro turned away from him, her gaze settling on the closed door. She would have sensed Hashirama’s approach long before him. “Do not get soft in matters that are unforgivable, nephew. You’re an Uchiha, make decisions like one.”

They left as haughtily as they had barged in, and it took a long moment before Hashirama slipped inside.

He looked as exhausted as Madara felt. Pale and large, dark circles under his eyes, hair unkempt and littered with colorful leaves.

“How long were you standing there?”

Hashirama smiled sheepishly but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Not that long?”

“Liar,” Madara grumbled as he crouched down to pick up his chair. “Weren’t you going to have a look…?”

“Ah, yes.” An embarrassed chuckle that sounded more painful than anything else. “I – well. I kind of turned around mid-way? It was a stupid idea.”

Madara had told him beforehand. Hashirama was the last person the Senju would be favorable toward – most of them, at least – and if he had gone into their little territory, whether his intentions were as simple as checking on how they were doing, he most certainly would not have been welcomed. Obviously. Reasons aside, he was a traitor and had played a major role in their downfall; Hashirama would have been met with severe hostility and Madara didn’t know how that might have affected his friend.

They didn’t need any of that, not hours before officially meeting with the Senju and when they still had many preparations to take care of. Why the sudden urge had even struck Hashirama all of a sudden was a mystery, but he was glad that the idiot hadn’t gone through with it.

“About what Kokoro-san and Kousuke-san said…”

Madara avoided looking at Hashirama as he reached for a fresh parchment. “They have a point, you know?”

Hashirama sighed and he hated everything about the resignation in it. “Yes. I’m not asking you to- I don’t know, be lenient or whatever. You shouldn’t upset your clan.”

“Or our allies,” he couldn’t help but quip.

A pause, uncertain and awkward, before, “Or them, yes.”

Madara waited to hear whether there was anything more – Hashirama wanted to say more, that much was obvious, but only silence followed. And he wondered whether Hashirama himself knew what he wanted in regard to this, to people demanding that Tobirama be held accountable for his crimes.

He shrugged and started to rewrite the treaty, fully aware of what would appease all of his clan. Himself – if he thought of his little brother's suffering – not so much, not by far but _compromises_ , right?

* * *

Hashirama wasn’t looking at him.

Tobirama was disgusted by how much his heart ached.

He couldn’t pinpoint the exact moment, but his brother had stopped _seeing_ him long before he had left. Even before the river. He had started to realize that after Itama had died – when he had looked around but couldn’t find Hashirama to share his grief with. There had been a wall between them ever since, thick and high, and Tobirama hadn’t yet managed to claw through it when Hashirama had already turned away and found something more worthy to pursue.

So, really, this wasn’t anything he wasn’t used to.

Why did it have to hurt so much, then? Why did he still have to be so pathetic after all these years?

Resolutely, he snapped his gaze away from Hashirama’s unusually stoic face.

It didn’t help him blend out the ache pulsating through his body. And neither could he ignore this strange presence - tendrils of Hashirama’s chakra nudging at the edges of his consciousness, not insistent or deliberate and yet – it was all wrong as well; subdued and cool, unsettling. Such a strange sensation, like he was staring into an ocean trying to make out the shapes slithering under the surface, but they never became sharp enough for him to give them names. There was a familiar warmth lingering in there, but it lacked its usual vibrance.

 _Like Father’s_ …

Hidden under the wide sleeves of his kimono, his hands twisted into each other, the nail of his right thumb digging into his left palm in the process.

Madara was sitting at Hashirama’s side, and wasn’t that strange? It was one thing seeing them together during fights, in battles you accepted any help you could get, after all. But this, a diplomatic setting, concerning primarily the Uchiha even if Hashirama was a driving force… He thought about the times Hashirama would step in to heal the wounded from among the Uchiha, how they would seek him out during fights, exuding respect and reverence so overwhelming at times that Tobirama would falter in a step during a strike.

With bitterness flaring up, searing hotly through his already constricted chest, Tobirama wondered how Hashirama, a defected Senju, had managed to carve a place for himself among the Uchiha. Why had they accepted him? Simply because he was, among other things, protecting their sharingan? And why had he stuck to them, supported them for so long when the Uchiha themselves certainly were no saints in this war? 

_What did they give you that we could not?_

_No, that’s not_ \- Tobirama rolled his right shoulder, only a slight movement, barely perceptible, eased the tension in his hands and shrugged off these damning thoughts. He was better than this. Had to be.

Instead, he met Madara’s bottomless eyes. They had been focused on him from the moment his party had reached the meeting point and had followed every move of his since. It was unnerving, all that attention from the wrong person but if there was something Tobirama truly excelled at then it was masking his discomfort. So, he stared at Madara in return, impassive, almost bored, knowing fully well it would irritate the other man.

Hashirama and Madara had brought the Heads of their closest allies along as witnesses: Hatake Kana whose lips were pulled back to bare her teeth in an eerily similar way to that massive wolf stalking up and down behind her, Sarutobi Sasuke who was so tense that it was a miracle he hadn’t snapped yet, and Nara Shimura whose upper half of the body was sprawled over the table at the far end, the casualness belying the attentiveness of his gaze. Each of them had brought at least two guards with them, and there were two Uchiha flanked at the door, Hikaku a familiar face, and a handful loitering outside, alert and ready to step in if needed. Probably hoping to.

Tobirama was rather surprised to see that Hyūga Kazuo wasn't here as well. Considering how aggressive the Hyūga had been in these past four years, he would have thought that they were pretty dedicated to Hashirama’s cause.

In contrast, Tobirama was only accompanied by Tōka, whom he had just passed the treaty with the set of conditions posed to them, and Hitomi, shadowing him at his back, a grounding comfort in this hostile environment. Hayato was outside, keeping his distance from the Uchiha but ready in case something went awry. It wasn’t like Tobirama could have spared any more of his shinobi, their compound needed the protection especially now that Father’s death had left them vulnerable.

“This is a lot,” Tōka growled, effectively cutting through the uncomfortable silence that had descended on them since Tobirama had been handed the treaty. Her voice was trembling with suppressed fury.

Tobirama pinched his eye closed when a flurry of emotions rippled through the chakras gathered in this small, suffocating hut. Surprised alarm, mostly, followed by anger; the suddenness was what pricked at his nerves more than anything else. He really appreciated the relative calmness of the Nara Head at the far end of the table.

Madara never looked away from Tobirama as he said, “It’s not enough, if you ask me.”

If his insides wouldn’t revolt at the mere thought, Tobirama might have touched Tōka’s hand to calm her down. He was too high strung for that, though. Sleepless nights and endless battles with his nerves and worry gnawing at him.

This whole setting was humiliating enough – the Senju were not equals trying to negotiate the best terms for themselves. Far from it. And the Uchiha had made that abundantly clear when they started this off by presenting their demands and conditions without leaving room for any modifications. Of course, that alone would be enough to hurt anyone’s pride but the terms themselves… He could guess which ones upset her.

Handing over every research they had ever done, including personal works was like baring their souls open for everyone to see the ugliness; the Uchiha probably would conduct a thorough search of their compound once all terms had been agreed to, and the mere thought had him squirm with discomfort. He didn't want to think about enemies roaming freely through his home. And there were things among those documents which rumors had not picked up on, and they wouldn’t do them any good in trying to gain the Uchiha and their allies’ trust. Things Tobirama wasn’t proud of – he wasn’t proud of so much that Father had wanted him to do, but it had been his _duty_. Whatever might help the clan, whatever would please Father, it was his duty to do. Yet, imagining Hashirama reading through his research, recognizing Tobirama’s writing… He swallowed the bile burning in his throat only to have it simmer acidly in his stomach.

It would be fine. The honesty should be seen as a good sign. Right?

They wouldn’t receive any positions of power nor would they be allocated missions up until their unspecified probation time was over. While reasonable considering their history, they were still shinobi no mono with pride. No one would mind not having to go out and fight for a while but being forced to sit still and watch all the other clans flourish in the meantime… It would be hard to explain this to his clansmen.

But it was fine. They wouldn’t have to worry about losing another loved one for a while. Right?

And then, being obligated to report all the happenings within their clan and allowing regular check-ups at any time, unannounced. Surveillance. No privacy, no secrets. A cage. And although Tobirama was used to being caged, he was agreeing for his whole clan to be put in chains…

 _But they will live_ , he reminded himself sternly. _The children will be safe. It’s fine, we won’t have anything to hide_.

There were other points, of course. And Tobirama understood why they would be forced to make these concessions even if he didn’t like it. If he were honest, it was a miracle that the Uchiha had agreed to listen to them, let alone to craft a complete treaty beforehand. Obnoxious it might seem to just write down their own terms and let the Senju either accept or consider the talks failed, but… the Senju hadn’t come willingly, per se, nor had they been willingly invited into this fold of peace.

They were not equals and this sham of a negotiations’ talk was a test to gauge whether they understood this.

Besides, Tobirama knew that the Uchiha would love nothing more than to eradicate the Senju for good – he could see it in the cold fury etched into Madara’s features, could feel it in the fluctuating chakras of the others. Their allies were deeply unsettled as well although, the Nara hid it well. Hatake Kana didn’t even try to mask her disdain and Sarutobi Sasuke looked like he was expecting a fight at any moment.

So, really. He wouldn’t give them a reason by contesting any of these points no matter how much he disliked them. Unfortunately, his cousin didn’t share any of his reservations.

Tōka straightened from her slouch, put the parchment down with more vehemence than necessary and glared into the round. It was the same glare she regarded an enemy with before launching an attack. “I’m fine with this, alright? Fuck, whatever, it’s fine.” It clearly wasn’t. “But that trial you’re demanding. And the chakra suppressing seals. A bit much, don’t you think?”

Tobirama blinked, caught off guard. _That_ had angered her? Out of everything? He hadn’t even lingered on those parts, read them and moved on because they were directed at him alone and he would deal with them.

“The trial is the sole reason our Elders even agreed to peace talks,” Madara said, sharp and cutting. “Stealing dōjutsu is a crime that deserves more than death, and you should be grateful that we’re talking right now instead of maiming your clan Head.”

The temperature in the room dropped to iciness. At the same time, Tobirama’s covered eye flared up, shooting acid through his head.

Tōka wasn’t backing down. “It was _war_. You can’t hold him accountable for actions he did during a bloody war! Why not ask for each other’s heads for every shinobi we have killed while we’re at it?!”

“There is a difference in killing to survive and torturing and violating someone just because you _can_!” His fingers twitched, the skin under his thumb broke, wetness gathering under his nail. _Violating_ … “If we just let it slide, how would that look? How would that make people feel?”

Eye-stealing _was_ an abhorrent crime, denounced and loathed universally. Trying to forcefully obtain someone else’s kekkei genkai _was_ a violation of the vilest kind. Tobirama couldn’t even use that accursed eye without making himself sick. If the Senju were forgiven without addressing any of their crimes, it would make the Uchiha look like unreliable fools; and besides, he was just grateful that they wanted to hold only him accountable and not everyone else who clearly had stolen a kekkei genkai in some way or form - but perhaps that was because none of those abilities belonged to a clan in Hi no Kuni.

His cousin was aware of all of this, he could see it in the way she gritted her teeth. She was aware and she hated it. A trial would lead to punishment – death, most likely – because there was no adequate justification. But it was Tobirama’s issue, he had expected this and already prepared accordingly. Tōka should know that he wasn’t planning to abandon his clan like that.

“As for the seals, we can’t endanger the people in the village,” Madara said calmly. “And letting _him_ ,” he let so much venom drip into that one word that even Hashirama next to him startled, “roam around without any means of control is a danger, Senju.”

“We’ll literally be surrounded by hostile shinobi!” Tōka shouted. The fists in her lap were shaking. “What the fuck do you think he could do when he’s clearly overpowered?!”

Madara’s expression hardened. “A cornered animal is the most dangerous.”

“You don’t even expect him to make it past your stupid trial! What’s the use of this?”

“Formality. And I’m sure you know your clan Head well enough to expect the unexpected of him.”

Tobirama pursed his lips in distaste. It would have been flattering coming from anyone but Madara.

He ought to intervene but what was he supposed to say? Keeping him in check by cutting off his access to his chakra was a powerplay – a clear indication of where the Senju as a whole would stand in the village. Reasonable. No one invited an enemy into their home without a means of controlling them. Yet, if he tried to reason with Tōka in front of all these spectators, she would lash out and this situation could become even messier. They were treading on thin ice as it was.

Thankfully, Hashirama raised a hand, silencing Tōka’s retort. His gaze was wearily focused on her, guarded, wrong. “The trial is a must; we cannot let taboos slide unaddressed. As for the seals, they are a show of goodwill to the people. The village is our responsibility, we have to protect whoever joins us, and people will feel safer this way.”

A long moment of silence stretched over them. Tensed and heavy and charged. Tobirama’s pulse stuttered when he felt Tōka’s patience _snap_ – her face twisted into a vicious sneer, so full of anger and bitterness that Tobirama almost flinched back. “Well, let’s hope you won’t abandon these people when it gets rough as you seem to love doing to anyone who’s your fucking responsibility, huh?”

“ _ **Tōka**_ ** _!_** ”

He didn’t realize that he had slapped his hand down on the table, that several silent observers jumped in surprise at hearing his voice, that Madara had half-risen to his feet, only held back by Hashirama gripping his arm. Barely noticed the anguish flickering over Hashirama’s expression.

His vision was blurry, and his own erratic heartbeat was drumming deafeningly in his ears. The air was too thin, too charged to breathe in.

Tōka turned toward him slowly, brows raised high, daring him to say anything.

“It’s fine,” he pressed through trembling lips. “I don’t object to any of this. We’re not here to fight, remember that.” Letting an edge of steel slip into his tone, he added, “And if you cannot keep a level head, maybe you should step outside.”

She couldn’t hide a flash of betrayal, and it _hurt_ , a stab right through his ribcage. He didn’t want to belittle her in front of enemies but- but _he_ was clan Head. Tōka needed to respect that and stop crossing lines by antagonizing the people who held their clan’s future hostage. Why was she even so upset? They had talked about this beforehand, had expected the worst and agreed to comply anyway. What was the use of tearing open a still tender wound and offering them one more weakness to toy with?

“ _Fine_ ,” she snarled and for a terrifying moment, he was sure that she would storm out. Instead, to his relief, she crossed her arms over her chest and leaned back. “Forgive me, I forgot that you can decide everything by yourself now!” Addressing Madara, she added, “But put them on all of us if you’re so fucking scared, you cowards!”

Tobirama exhaled shakily.

Wordlessly and without looking at anyone, he pulled the parchment closer to himself. Stared at the conditions one more time, flitting over each point, not registering any of the words anymore. Thought about Tōka’s fury brimming hotly at his side, about the Elders’ reluctance, about the fear of everyone back home. If he were to refuse now, would they be able to leave unscathed? _Doubtful_.

Before he could lose himself to his uncertainty, the paper was ripped out of his grip.

Madara stared dubiously from Tōka to him, a small, perplexed crease visible between his brows. “So, what? You agree with everything? Just like that?”

“Should we not?” Tobirama asked back. “It’s not like we have much of a choice here.”

“Well, forgive me for doubting that _you_ want peace.”

 _Peace_. What did that even mean? That they stopped killing each other? That they started to live together without fighting? No more conflicts? Tobirama had no idea what this peace was supposed to look like. Even when Hashirama had used to talk about it back then, he had had a hard time visualizing this. War was all he had ever experienced, constant fighting, constant survival. Anything else sounded like a lie – but a sweet, tempting one.

“My clan is dying,” he said instead of refuting Madara’s disbelief. In his periphery, he saw Hashirama stiffen. “I’m tired of needless deaths.” _And pain and suffering_.

“That’s a first!” Hatake Kana snorted, the sound stopping her wolf in its restless pacing. She wasn’t amused, the chuckle tearing out of her dry and bitter. “Can you even live without murdering anyone? I thought an _Oni_ needs death as much as we human need air.”

“You-”

A cutting glare from him had Tōka shut up.

“I’m not here to trade insults,” he said, relieved when his voice didn’t tremble. “Your conditions do not matter. I will accept everything.”

“And the Elders are fine with that?”

His attention riveted toward Hashirama who was frowning in genuine confusion. Or perhaps that was disbelief. “Yes.” Not that it made any difference, they had no grounds on which they could oppose.

Abruptly, Madara lurched forward, faster than Hashirama could have reacted, jumping over the table separating them to crouch down next to Tobirama. He ignored Hashirama’s warning, “Madara!” and Tobirama, so surprised, barely registered Hitomi shuffling closer to him or Tōka standing up.

“ _Everything_? You should be careful with your words, Senju.” There was a kunai glinting in Madara’s grip. “You have spilled so much blood, if we start to collect the debts nothing of you will remain.”

 _You’ve spilled as much of our blood_ , was burning on the tip of his tongue but he bit down on it the same as he did on the anger rearing its head within him. They were no equals. The Senju had lost this war, not the other way around, thus they were not entitled to any retributions, but the Uchiha _could_ demand whatever they wanted. And he loathed it. What a pathetic leader he was, powerless and completely helpless when it mattered the most.

“If it means that the fighting stops, everything seems worth it.”

Madara’s eyes flashed red, causing him to lower his own gaze on instinct – a split second of inattention that Madara used to grab his chin roughly. He flinched, startled, heart stuttering, only to have Madara press down harder. _Gloves. No calloused fingers_. The assessment that they weren't _really_ touching did nothing to ground him.

Somewhere in the distance, he could hear hectic movements, an enraged, “ _Uchiha_!”, feel a subtle touch against his shoulder blades, but – his mind refused to focus on anything. Madara was _too close_. His chakra, bristling and crackling and so hot, _hurt_.

“If it were up to me, I’d get rid of your whole fucking clan,” Madara growled. Tobirama didn’t doubt him at all. “But alright, if you’ll cooperate, _fine_ , let's try this charade. Though, before I can consider this deal as official…”

Tobirama hadn’t even fully registered what Madara had said when he felt the bandage around his eye pool down on his shoulders. Dirty red bled into his vision, a sudden clarity, too intense, too sharp, clashing with his normal sight – which now alternated between sharp and blurry and sharp and blurry and- causing his head to spin.

“Return what you have stolen.”

Madara’s fingers flicked forward and Tobirama instinctively covered his burning eye while Hitomi, in the same breath, grabbed Madara’s wrist and yanked it away.

“Uchiha-san, we have been nothing but civil up until now,” Hitomi said, tone carefully blank. “And I’ll be asking as civilly as I can – Let. Go.”

Madara didn’t comply, his thumb and forefinger a cold, heavy weight on Tobirama’s chin. “He’ll have to return it.”

Three stripes of white thread flashed over Hitomi’s knuckles, barely visible. “And you’re going to just rip it out?”

“Seems the easiest way, doesn’t it?”

“It’s not that easy,” Tobirama croaked out.

Madara snorted in disgust before letting go as if burned. “Of course. Taking is always easier than giving, isn’t it?”

Tobirama thought of the eyes that hadn’t responded to him well and instead seared through his skull, leaving him blind and sick and terrified. Of nights spent in the healing rooms with only his own mind to torture him. Of Father and his suffocating disappointments and touches impossibly painful in the wake of each failure.

Remembered how he had tried to rip out Izuna’s sharingan shortly after having used it for the first time – he shuddered as the phantom pains wrecked through his head like they did on many a restless night.

 _If I could, I wouldn’t hesitate to get it out_ , he should have told him, them; they were all watching curiously. What left his mouth, trembling, the slightest hint of pleading, was, “I can’t return it.”

And it wasn’t the right answer, he was aware of that even without Madara’s mangekyo flaring to life, even without Sarutobi Sasuke scrunching his face into a grimace of disgust or the Hatake sneering at him in his periphery. Even without Hashirama looking so pained.

“You better think about that again,” Madara hissed. “And your fucking answer better change until your trial.”

His throat constricted, panic winding around it like a vicious snake. “The treaty…”

“Will not yet be signed. Not until Izuna wakes up.” Madara stood up rigidly, his gaze flitting from Tobirama to Hashirama, burning with an unsaid promise. “If my brother dies, I’ll burn that treaty and every single Senju along with it.”

And Tobirama – didn’t understand. He hadn’t seen Izuna ever since the latter’s escape but had chalked it up to either Madara being overly protective or Izuna not being fit to fight yet. It never crossed his mind that there might be more to it because if something serious had happened to Izuna, Madara wouldn’t have had any mercy for him.

“What’s wrong with Izuna?”

It was the wrong thing to ask.

He flinched back, just barely out of Madara’s reach, the motion causing a wave of dizziness to wash over him. Madara’s arms were straining against Hitomi’s threads, sparks sizzling around his fingertips, and if he struggled any more, those threads would leave bloody imprints - they could easily cut someone's throat to the bone if Hitomi wanted them to. Hitomi yanked at them once, forcing Madara to step back, before he released him, threads rewrapping themselves around his knuckles, and moved in front of Tobirama.

When Tobirama chanced a glance over his shoulder, he saw that Tōka had drawn her naginata, but her focus laid warily on Hikaku and the other guard, both of whom had their own swords ready. _Shitshitshit_. His heart was beating so loudly that he was surprised no one else could hear it.

“Madara, calm-”

“Bastard,” Madara cut off Hashirama who had risen just like the others aside from the Nara. “You cripple my brother and leave him for dead and you dare mock me about it?!”

Dead? But… Last time he had seen Izuna… his rival hadn’t been in the best of state, granted, but Tobirama had been sure that his injuries could easily be healed. The physical ones, at least. Had he miscalculated? It wasn’t impossible, he hadn’t had that much time with Izuna once the sharingan had been transplanted. He might have messed up without realizing it…

“Madara, you need to calm down!” Hashirama had made his way toward Madara and laid a hand on his shoulder, gently tugging him back. “Izuna will be _fine_ , alright?”

There was so much rage coiling in Madara’s already burning chakra, but what had Tobirama’s insides twist sickeningly was the helplessness and fear lurking underneath. The certainty that this man would destroy the world for his brother’s sake. He had raged so terrifyingly when they had caught Izuna and worse after Izuna had returned to him; had probably killed more Senju in that time alone than he had ever before.

Would his brother do the same? If Tobirama were to show him all the hurts that he hid even from himself… would Hashirama care? Even a little?

He watched Hashirama murmur something to Madara, expression soft in a way that Tobirama hadn’t seen in ages and tried to swallow around the lump in his throat.

Madara looked away from him, though his sharingan never flickered out. “The trial. I'll summon you. Be ready for it, Senju.” With that said, he stormed out and took most of the tensed energy with him.

Tobirama waited for the hut to empty out and was surprised when Hashirama lingered. He wasn’t the only one. “Shouldn’t you follow your _friend_?” Hitomi huffed, agitation slowly creeping into his calm façade.

Hashirama sighed, clearly exhausted. “Look. I really want this to work out. I care-”

“Could’ve fooled me what with all the backstabbing,” Tōka snorted.

“-and I want the clan to be safe,” Hashirama continued forcefully. “It would be a lot easier if you guys stopped trying to antagonize everyone.”

“Are you done? If so, please, with all due respect, leave.”

Hashirama scrunched up his nose at Hitomi, hesitated for a moment longer and whirled around. Once he was gone, Hitomi knelt down in front of Tobirama and Tōka on his right, tentative hands prying his own away from his sharingan. He allowed it, mind whirring too much and tongue too heavy to protest.

“Shit, it’s bleeding again,” Tōka muttered. “Close it, let me…”

He couldn't see what she was doing, one eye bleeding and the other burning with a humiliating wetness, but he could feel Hitomi dab at the blood that was dribbling down his cheek with something very soft. It smelt like salty air, opening his airways a little wider. Someone was gathering the bandages from around his neck.

It took him several attempts of opening his mouth and closing it and opening it again, tongue moving without any sound rolling over it at first, before he was able to croak out, “I wasn’t trying to antagonize anyone.”

Hitomi paused in his attempt to clean him. He was so close that his curly ahoge was tickling Tobirama’s cheekbone, and yet his voice sounded so far away. “We know.”

It didn’t make him feel any better.


	7. Trial.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaah, this took longer than I expected (I had the draft written ages ago and still ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯). I'm also stuck with a suboptimal laptop atm until I can get a new one, so bear with me :/

“I won’t need that.”

Fuyuhiro paused at the corner of the table opposite of him with Tobirama’s happuri perched reverently on his outstretched palms. He tilted his head to the side, auburn locks bouncing along with the motion, and frowned in confusion. Behind him in the middle of the room, Haru hesitantly dropped Tobirama’s armor, which he had been dragging arduously over the floor, and turned toward them, his lower lip pushed forward into an indignant pout.

“Why not?” they asked simultaneously.

Tobirama leaned back, startled. He had gotten used to them finishing each other’s sentences by now, but it still caught him off-guard when they said the same thing at the same time as if they could read each other’s minds. It was sweet, though, and if someone had told him a few years ago that they would grow this close, Tobirama would have been hard pressed to believe it.

He put down his half empty cup of tea, its faint bitter aftertaste lingering pleasantly on his tongue, and strained his ears for a moment. From somewhere deeper into the house, there were muffled voices accompanied by the occasional clinking of dishes drifting over, indicating that someone was preparing breakfast. In the room over him, a pair of small feet was padding sluggishly over the floor. And behind the closed shogi doors at his right, he could hear a series of high-pitched giggles followed by the splashing of water – there were no koi fishes in his pond, keeping them simply wasn’t feasible, but the kids liked to pretend.

The children usually struggled to get up this early in the morning and he tended to let them sleep in late. Today, though...

Focusing his attention back on Fuyuhiro and Haru, Tobirama let one corner of his mouth curl upward into what he hoped was a gentle smile. “Because I’m not going into a battle.” Not exactly. It _was_ a battle but not like the ones he normally fought; and he preferred this, if he was honest. Preferred the sickening dread twisting in the pit of his stomach at the uncertainty that laid ahead of him to the stinging ache in his heart at the sight of both of them preparing his armor for him.

The two shared a troubled look before Haru piped up, “But you’re going to the Uchiha's home. We heard!”

Unsurprisingly. There was little else to talk about unless his clan wanted to bemoan the steady decrease of food rations, their limited access to fertile fields or their pathetic financial situation. And no one was inclined to do that, too exhausted of worrying about these issues that none of them could do much against since long before Father's demise. That left ample of time to focus on the progress they were making with the Uchiha and their allies, and Madara’s messenger hawk – a rather massive beast that would often be found sitting on the man’s shoulders – had certainly caught a lot of attention the previous evening.

Tobirama still wished that the adults would stop discussing such matters where children could hear.

Making sure that his smile didn't slip, Tobirama beckoned them closer and pushed himself away from the low table so that he could face them properly. Whereas Haru knelt down in front of him, all proper posture and grim determination, Fuyuhiro slid into his lap and buried half of his face into his right shoulder. It was a familiar weight - albeit far too light for comfort - and the pleasant thrum of their still developing chakras soothed over the nervousness that Tobirama had unsuccessfully tried to ignore since he had woken up.

“We’re not at war anymore, remember?”

Haru furrowed his eyebrows – unlike his hair, the white had almost completely faded out of them, replaced by his natural shade of brown. “They could still hurt you!”

Of course, they could and they certainly wanted to. If it were up to him, he wouldn’t step onto Uchiha territory, let alone their compound. But what choice did he have in this matter? At the very least, he could now stop either anxiously awaiting a summon or worrying about an Uchiha squad descending on them to kill and destroy.

“That’s a risk I have to take. I have to show them that we’re sincere and do want peace.”

Haru didn’t look any less skeptical. “That’s stupid! Why don’t they do the same then? There will be so many of them, that’s unfair and craven!”

The intensity of the sudden outburst threw Tobirama off for a heartbeat. Observing the boy more closely, Haru looked as distressed as he sounded - close to tears, tense and stiff. Terrified. Why, though? This wasn't a kill-or-be-killed kind of battle and those had never distressed the boy such.

“Because we lost, and they didn’t,” he said carefully.

It was as simple as that and although young, Haru was smart enough to understand this. Besides, this wasn’t the first time they were having such a discussion.

Yet, when Haru continued to glower, silent and brooding, Tobirama sighed. He reached out to rest his hand on a spiky mess of greyish white hair that had yet to be combed while carefully adjusting Fuyuhiro - Was the kid falling asleep on him? - and tried another approach, “We will have a lot to do with the Uchiha from now on.” _If today’s trial goes well_. “It’s fine if you say these things to me but you cannot talk to any outsider like that. Do you understand, Haru?” It was better that they learned to hold their tongues now than risk them mouthing off to the wrong people.

“Maybe I don’t want to have anything to do with them,” Haru grumbled, not meeting his gaze anymore.

It wasn’t simple childish petulance anymore but a sincerity that echoed painfully through Tobirama’s very being. He let his thumb brush over Haru’s forehead, over the little crinkles there. “Well, sometimes we have to do things we don’t want to.”

“I just don’t like them,” the boy said in a small, trembling voice.

“They’re not very likable,” Fuyuhiro agreed softly.

Tobirama grunted noncommittedly. Haru’s parents had been killed by an Uchiha woman who had breached into Senju territory in search of her missing child. Many of the orphaned children had lost their family to an Uchiha’s blade or that of their allies; _everyone_ here had lost someone to them at some point. On top of that, seeing the clan struggle as they were backed further into a corner without a way out, experiencing hunger and sometimes even feeling unsafe in their own homes wouldn't have endeared the enemy to anyone, either. So, he couldn’t begrudge them their dislike, especially since he himself wasn’t very fond of that clan, either.

The war had taken its toll on everyone, young and old, and Tobirama could do nothing against lingering resentment aside from hoping that time would smooth out the edges. It _had_ to because the future dependant on them learning to move on.

“You don’t have to like someone to tolerate them. Just don’t go out of your way to fight.” The last thing he needed once the treaty was settled was for the children to offend anyone. And Haru most definitely would with that attitude of his.

“But what if they hurt you again! Like last time!”

His gaze dropped, caught by the sudden swirl of thick chakra around Haru’s hand, the right one that was barely touching the floor. He let his own trembling one drift down Haru’s head over his shoulder and arm to grip his wrist, lift it gently and turn his palm up. There, at the tips of his middle and forefinger two small green buds twitched in tandem to Haru’s quickened, angry breathing.

_“Don’t be so shocked, son. You were the one who asked me if we could take the boy into the main family. Shouldn’t you be happy that I was agreeable? A shame you couldn't be here for it.”_

“This…” Tobirama swallowed around the bile burning in the back of throat, his grip loosening ever so slightly. “Don’t show this to anyone outside of the clan. Ever.”

The Uchiha hadn’t mentioned anything about taking action against those clan members who had clearly stolen a kekkei genkai but Tobirama didn’t trust them not to. He rather preferred not to find out their reactions upon seeing what Father had done to Haru – how Tobirama had constantly _failed_ to protect those under his care - and he certainly didn’t want the boy to be exposed to any kind of misplaced judgement.

Besides, when he remembered what had happened to Father, how the mokuton imitation had started to consume him painfully from within and outside – one of the reasons for why he had done this to Haru… Tobirama shuddered. He definitely wouldn’t survive Haru suffering Father’s fate. It was better not to use these accursed powers at all.

“Didn’t mean to,” Haru mumbled, cheeks flushed with embarrassment. He had gotten better at not accidentally using them, had tried to suppress them as much as possible because Tobirama had asked him to, but slip-ups were bound to happen.

Fuyuhiro stirred in his lap, snapping him out of his uncomfortable musings as he slid down and sat right between them, staring at Haru’s fingers thoughtfully. “Me too?”

It took Tobirama a moment to realize what he was asking. “No, you’re fine.” Although, Fuyuhiro so obviously not being a Senju would catch a lot of unwanted attention too. Would they think he was kidnapped? Kept forcefully? Though, these were worries for a later time. "And I wasn't hurt the last time. Where did you even get that from?"

"There was blood," they both said.

 _Ah_. He grimaced guiltily; he hadn't realized that anyone had _noticed_. Were children supposed to be this perceptive? "No one hurt me," he sighed, unsure how to convince them. It probably wasn't possible and he didn't have the time, right now. “And no one will now, alright? It’s getting late, anyway, I should go.” Hitomi, Hayato and Takeshi had been pacing in front of his house for a while already and the latter at least was getting very impatient; or perhaps that was just his perpetual anger seeping through. “Can I?”

Haru squinted at him, the buds falling off as he crossed his arms over his chest. “No, but…”

“…if you have to,” Fuyuhiro finished sourly.

Tobirama raised an eyebrow at him, unused to Fuyuhiro being this moody. Usually, he was the easier of one to deal with – out of all of them. Quiet and agreeable and calm. Tobirama was about to comment on that, tease him to lighten the atmosphere a little, but was cut off when a girl barreled loudly into the room. She was out of breath and red-faced, ponytail in disarray and a pair of slippers in her hands. He winced even before Kayo tripped over his discarded armor; of course, she would. Her startled yelp echoed too loudly through the room, any other sounds within the house suddenly muting.

“Ooops,” she chuckled without any hint of embarrassment. “Tobirama-sama, your shoes!”

"What a klutz," Haru muttered though Tobirama could see his mouth twitching upward.

Tobirama smiled wistfully.

He didn't know how today would go. All he had was the scroll weighing heavily against his chest and the whisper of a hope that this desperate last resort of his would be enough to buy him some more time. It _had_ to. _For them_ , he thought as he watched Kayo scramble to her feet and Haru walk up to her to try and steal the sandals, though she was taller and evaded him easily enough, and Fuyuhiro crawling over his lap to reach for his forgotten tea.

For the sake of his children he could only pray that his gamble would work out.

* * *

Tobirama was unarmed and alone when he sauntered into the council room. He wasn’t wearing his armor, clad only in a simple blue yukata that probably should have made him look harmless but didn't. The sounds of his geta sandals on the bamboo floor echoed awkwardly loud through the tensed silence of the room.

Uchiha Hikaku and Uchiha Komui were shadowing his steps but there was no one else in sight. He hadn’t come alone, though. The messenger from the dispatched squad that had met the Senju at the Uchiha borders had reported three other people alongside Tobirama, yet none had followed into the compound.

For the first time in almost four years, Hashirama allowed himself to really _look_ at his last little brother.

Head held high, shoulders straight and face impassive, Tobirama didn’t seem bothered to be surrounded by mortal enemies. When stepping in front of the Elders who were sitting in two straight rows of zabutons behind Madara he bowed respectfully, not too lowly but not too shallowly either, and didn’t flinch despite the hostility crackling in the air. There wasn’t a twitch of a muscle, not even the slightest when he paused to regard Izuna, sickly pale and blindfolded and looking smaller than he was next to Madera. He just straightened again, folded one hand behind his back and waited.

Oh, how Hashirama had always loathed his brother’s emotionless front. It could be so exhausting, trying to figure out whatever Tobirama was hiding behind his walls and yet, never being sure about anything. Something as simple as emotions should never be turned into complicated puzzles.

No one said anything for a long moment. They were watching, hungry hawks circling their prey, trying to catch any hint of a weakness that wasn’t there. The Uchiha wouldn’t be satisfied if Tobirama didn’t show some fear at having walked into his certain death – and Hashirama had no idea how to feel about that. The Elders, though, were most certainly displeased judging from those sour expressions, all of them except Madara's aunt whose expression was as impassive as Tobirama's but her gaze was piercing sharp. Hashirama shuddered internally, knowing fully well how unpleasant it was to be at the receiving end of Uchiha Kokoro's scrutiny.

Finally, Madara, positioned at the helm of his council, crossed his arms over his chest and leaned forward, mouth pulled back into a sneer. “Have your clansmen already abandoned you, Senju?”

“Their presence isn’t needed,” Tobirama said. His tone was so soft that it would have been hard to hear him in any other situation and somehow, that surprised Hashirama. It was such a paradox to the confidence he was exuding otherwise. “Neither," Tobirama continued drily, "is this mockery of a trial, if we are honest.”

Where he stood in his corner, Hashirama cringed. Good _kami_ , had Tobirama lost any sense of self-preservation?

“ _Mockery_?” Elder Kōsuke hissed spitefully as he dragged himself to his bony legs. He was a bitter old man who still didn’t trust Hashirama fully, and who was a lot more impulsive than his wife. “You _dare_ insult us such, disgusting eye-stealer?!”

Unbidden, Hashirama’s attention flickered toward Tobirama’s meticulously covered eye.

He remembered when Tobirama had revealed the sharingan in the middle of an especially gruesome battle not so long ago – Madara had been vicious that day because Izuna had been gone for too long, and the Senju had lashed out with the desperation of cornered animals. Both squads, Senju and Uchiha, had been almost completely wiped out in the aftermath and yet, it wasn’t the image of death and gore that Hashirama recalled so vividly. No. It was Tobirama, crouched in front of Butsuma, tomoes whirring to life, and Butsuma’s hand on his bloodied hair, a disgustingly pleased smile on his lips.

Hashirama could still taste the bile he had vomited afterward, and that same bile was burning acidly in his throat now.

Apparently, Tobirama didn’t have any such reservations about past deeds and just blinked slowly, completely unruffled. “Nothing I say will justify my actions. You know that as well as you know that this cannot end in anything but my death. Yet, here I am, going through this ordeal that is supposed to have only one end. Isn’t it a mockery, then?”

 _How can you be so unaffected_ , Hashirama wanted to scream, fingers digging painfully into his upper arms, _when talking about your own death?_ Instead, he bit down on his tongue until it hurt and begged his heart to settle down; it hadn’t done so ever since he had woken up today and wouldn’t start to do so any time soon. Perhaps Madara had had a point when he had asked him to sit this trial out. But how could he have? There was still a shameful part of him so traitorously _aching_... But he couldn't figure out what it wanted, what it hoped for - he had neglected it for so long that it felt completely alien and wrong by now.

“Yet, you agreed to be tried,” Madara said suspiciously as if those words alone were supposed to fish out whatever deceit Tobirama was planning.

“Indeed. But _what_ are you going to try me for? Stealing Izuna’s sharingan?” Madara’s face darkened but Izuna didn’t even twitch. He had been perfectly still since the moment he had sat down, oddly silent since he had finally woken up two days ago, and it was unnerving. That boy couldn’t keep his mouth shut, usually. “Or taking all the ones before his? It will be a long day if you want to try me for every single one.”

The already stuffy air thickened with resentment so intense that Hashirama could almost taste it.

His mind flickered – toward a woman with empty eye sockets bleeding out over the dead body of her child and Tobirama kneeling in their blood while being handed two eyes by Butsuma. He had looked as impassive as he did now, and Hashirama’s heart lurched with pain.

Why? Why had Tobirama turned out to be like _this_? Hashirama himself wasn’t this cold, Kawarama and Itama hadn’t been like this, either. Where had Tobirama gone wrong? _When_? He had been such a sweet child, once upon a time. Full of innocence and precious smiles and childish wonderment. No matter how often he pondered over this question, Hashirama couldn’t figure out when Tobirama had started to become – _this_.

When Madara spoke again, his voice was seething with cold fury. “If you want us to cut you straight into pieces, just say the word, bastard.”

At that, Tobirama hesitantly glanced toward Hashirama. He looked back, surprised and uncertain but it didn’t last long, and he wondered whether he had imagined it.

“I don’t intend to die here, I’m afraid.”

Madara raised two fingers in warning when Elder Kōsuke made to speak again and simultaneously cut off the murmurs that arose among the guards lined up along each wall. Hashirama hadn’t consciously realized how many of them there were whereas Tobirama was alone… “But you won’t elaborate on your crimes, either? You won’t defend yourself?”

“It’s not like that will be of any use.” A pause, deliberate, calculating, then, “I can offer you something else, though.”

“Something else,” Madara echoed disbelievingly. “You think you can offer us something that will compensate for your atrocities?”

And wasn’t that- Hashirama took a deep breath and tried to rein in his violently roiling chakra. Disappointment was crushing his chest and making it hard to actually breathe.

So, Tobirama was going to negotiate his way out of this instead of facing his deeds and explaining why he had done what he had done. And it was reasonable, wasn’t it? They had expected something like this, after all. No matter what Tobirama had to say, the verdict would be execution – his hand in the experimentations and thefts couldn’t be overlooked. Hashirama was aware, he had been dreading this for many sleepless nights and yet… He wanted to at least hear why his brother had committed such a heinous crime, wanted it to make sense beyond something as simple as stupid, blind duty, _before_ Tobirama started to worm his way out of this hole.

_But then, I’d want to hear about everything else too and that’s such a long list, isn’t it, otōto?_

Tobirama never looked away from Madara. The stiff set of his jaw was a stark contrast to the relative calmness he was exuding, the only sign of his nervousness. Perhaps he wasn’t as sure about his proposition as he would have liked to be. “I have studied the sharingan extensively for many years now. Although, my research is far from complete or perfect-"

"Unsurprising," Kokoro-san interrupted him sharply. Hashirama stiffened, half surprised that she was saying anything at all and half anxious about _why_. There was always a purpose behind everything that she did. "Considering that the subjects of your research would have been dead more often than not."

 _Ah_. Hashirama found himself leaning forward on his toes, dread twisting into painful knots around his innards. _Riling up the audience_.

"Well." There was a strain in Tobirama's voice now, the slightest hint of unease. "I wasn't researching the subjects for..." He trailed off abruptly as if realizing how that sounded.

Kokoro-san's smile was unforgiving. "Of course. Uchiha _lives_ are worthless to you, after all."

Tobirama's eyebrows furrowed, an angry crease forming between them, and his left hand twitched at his side. For a moment, Hashirama was sure that he was about to snap. Instead, he exhaled slowly, smoothed out his expression and focused back on Madara. It was impressive how he did that - Tobirama had always had an excellent self-control, something that had made it very hard to tease him during their childhood. When he spoke again, his tone was bordering on bored, "You use your _mangekyō_ a lot. How much has your sight already deteriorated?"

 _Oh_. Even Izuna’s head snapped back in shock at that. Hashirama barely noticed, too distracted by the earsplitting roaring in his head. Too transfixed by the momentary horror crinkled around the corners of Madara's eyes and the traces of terror his friend couldn't quite mask.

If Tobirama saw, then there was no indication of that. "I know that even in its base form the sharingan slowly damages your sights and leaves your eyes very sensitive, but in its evolved form it eventually leads to complete blindness. And I _might_ have a theory on how to help.”

The silence that stretched over them was deafening.

Morbidly curious, Hashirama took in Madara’s now carefully blank expression, noted how Elder Kōsuke had gone ashen pale, how the other Elders were throwing each other shocked glances. Kokoro-san's lips had disappeared completely, leaving only a thin, tight line behind. Hikaku, who had been standing on guard behind Tobirama, shifted uneasily, whereas his partner, Komui, pulled his mouth back into an enraged snarl. Shock and indignation rippled through the shinobi guards.

They had talked about this once, him and Madara, on a cloudy night at the Naka river only hours after Madara's sharingan had evolved, both of them drunk on several bottles of sake and delirious with their own brand of demons. It was a miracle that Hashirama had remembered anything the next day – but he had because Madara’s confessions had been laced with so much bitterness and hopelessness that even Hashirama’s alcohol addled mind couldn’t blur them out.

Madara hadn't been detailed in his drunken rambling, and at first, Hashirama had thought that it was only the mangekyō that affected their eyes negatively. Long before that night, he had known that there were other Uchiha who possessed the mangekyō - Kokoro-san had shown him so _thoroughly_ \- albeit nowhere as powerful as Madara's, but he hadn't understood why they wouldn't use it. It had only occurred to him slowly - that there were other Uchiha, older but not old, who would be pulled out of certain field work for no apparent reason, or he would catch someone staring intently at a written piece of paper or at something in the distance for a long period of time through squinted eyes. And little Kagami, an odd case rather than the norm, who had been so young when his sharingan awoke that the Uchiha healers had it sealed out of precaution, and yet shortly after, he had started to trip over or run into things, or misplace faces of people only several feet away from him.

It wasn't blindness but a huge disadvantage for any shinobi no mono, especially those whose strengths and pride laid in their eyes. The few remedies Hashirama had been privy to weren’t a permanent fix and needed to be applied regularly, often several times a day. Quite ironic considering that the sharingan supposedly enhanced its user's sight to unimaginable levels. As such, there was a large stigma on those whose eyes started to lose their usefulness, and the threat of discovery a constantly looming sword over their heads.

No one spoke about this disease their revered sharingan brought with it. At least, not out in the open as if voicing it would truly solidify a reality none of them could escape, least of all those who yearned to master their full potential, and they preferred to live in blissful ignorance. It was a tender wound they bore from the moment their sharingan awoke until death. For Tobirama to sink his claws into one of the Uchiha’s greatest weaknesses…

It was as cruel as it was brilliant.

How had he found out, though? Captives wouldn't have talked easily. Did his stolen eye affect him in similar ways, perhaps?

Madara stood up slowly and deliberately, dōjutsu coming alive as his inner hunter smelled blood. Oh. He was furious. _Really_ furious. “You’re honestly claiming that you can get rid of the sharingan’s side effects?”

Tobirama tensed, but didn’t move, not even when Madara started to round in on him. He shook his head. “No. I just have a theory; it’s not like I had the opportunity to test it out.” Wrong thing to say given the context and judging from the little grimace pulling at his mouth, Tobirama knew that well. “I wouldn’t be able to do it myself, anyway. But…” This time, he caught and held Hashirama’s gaze, startling him. Madara halted, but he didn’t turn around. “I can give you all the research I have conducted on this, and someone better equipped in the medical field should be able to evaluate everything and maybe use it.”

Even if he had tried, Hashirama wouldn’t have been able to hide his shock. Granted, he was naturally gifted at iryō ninjutsu but how would Tobirama know how his skills had developed in the past years? And did Tobirama really possess the salvation of the Uchiha or was this a trick? It seemed ridiculous to consider; generations of _Uchiha_ healers hadn’t been able to come up with anything satisfying until they had stopped driving themselves mad over this issue. But his brother _was_ a genius. Always stumbling upon something new, inventing the most curios of things. It wasn’t completely unbelievable.

 _A theory_ , Tobirama had said, though. An idea, a thought, but nothing concrete. There were good chances that this wouldn’t work. Which… Observing the subdued intrigue in many a face present, the anxious eagerness… If whatever Tobirama did have didn’t work out, then the fallout would be truly messy.

He had to be very desperate to resort to something as uncertain as this.

“And in return we overlook your crimes?”

Tobirama shrugged one shoulder. “Take it or leave it.”

 _Of course_. Hashirama pinched the bridge of his nose, exhaustion lying heavily in his limbs. Why was he surprised, really? Tobirama wouldn’t have agreed to this trial if he hadn’t had a plan to fall back on, and he had played his cards extremely well. Whether anyone believed him or not, they wouldn’t risk missing this chance. The only thing puzzling about this was why Tobirama hadn’t spoken up during their peace talks a few days ago. It would have spared them time.

“You are a fucking piece of shit, Senju,” Madara growled, each word trembling with anger. And defeat; a low note but Hashirama could pick up on it easily. “Give me that research. If you’re wrong, I’ll rip you into pieces.”

Tobirama inclined his head and pulled out a scroll from inside his yukata. Madara snatched it up as soon as it was held out to him and carelessly tossed it toward Hashirama who fumbled to catch. It was quite thick.

“But I still want Izuna’s eye back.”

There was an obvious shift in Tobirama’s stoic expression and Hashirama latched on it: the corner of his mouth pulled into half a grimace and his left brow pinched down in what almost looked like pain. “I told you, it’s complicated. If I could-”

The punch came out of nowhere. The crunching sound of bones colliding with bones startling.

Maybe it was from the shock or maybe from the force of the hit, but Tobirama lost his footing and landed with a heavy thump on the ground. Madara was on him before he could react, foot pressing down on his throat. Tobirama’s cheek was already turning purple and blood was trickling down his mouth yet, he still looked so goddamn composed.

Hashirama stepped forward unconsciously until he realized his body’s action and reeled back, heart thudding loudly in his chest.

“I don’t give a shit,” Madara was saying. “There’ll be no pardon until you do, or so help me – forget peace, I’ll not just wipe out your clan, I’ll erase every trace of your miserable existence.”

The truly terrifying thing, the one that had Hashirama almost choke on his next breath, was that Madara was _serious_. He would do it without hesitation.

Despite this trial, it was a miracle that the Uchiha had agreed to hold any peace talks with the Senju considering that Uchiha never forgave eye-stealing. But letting Tobirama keep a sharingan? _Izuna’s_? Even if Izuna wouldn’t be able to use it anymore, Madara would set the world on fire before he let any slight against his little brother slide.

Uncomfortably, Hashirama shuffled from his left foot to his right, suppressing the urge to rub over his aching chest. Thinking about the Uchiha brothers’ relationship always left him bitter.

Tobirama was silent for a long moment before he groaned, exasperated, “Fine. Give me some time.”

For a split second, Madara pressed down harder and watched Tobirama wince in discomfort before he jerked back, face contorted with barely controlled rage. “Get up. Mei, give me that fucking treaty.”

It was over. Tobirama had won this round.

It took a while for Hashirama to realize that he couldn’t hear his own pulse in his ears anymore. Breathing came more easily to him.

When Madara whirled around to stomp back to his zabuton, Tobirama sat up and gingerly reached for his throat, wincing as soon as he touched the tender skin. It was – oddly vulnerable, and Hashirama felt something flare up in his chest, hot and vicious and almost unfamiliar by now. He crushed it hurriedly and pressed his shoulder a little harder into the wall he was leaning again, throat closing up painfully. And then, Tobirama pushed himself up to follow after Madara and the expression was gone, but the remnants of the feeling that Hashirama had squashed to dust still quivered through his veins.

He left his corner at the same time as Mei, a middle-aged kunoichi, waded past the rows of Elders to place the treaty, ink and a quill on the low table in front of where Madara had been sitting. He hoped his steps weren’t as unsteady as they seemed to him.

Madara didn’t sit down nor did he react much when Hashirama sidled up next to him. It was a little surprising that Madara was ready to have the treaty signed without first confirming that Tobirama's research was solid. But nothing stopped him from breaking off the agreement afterward... and he probably believed that the sooner the Senju were bound the better.

“That’s the final draft. There were minor tweaks from last time, if you want to go over everything, but this has been approved by us and our allies.”

“No need,” Tobirama mumbled and knelt down, wordlessly signing each page. On the last two, he dribbled a blob of ink, formed a quick seal with one hand and watched as the blob took shape of the Senju crest. Hashirama frowned. There might be nothing Tobirama could do to change any point that he didn’t like but just agreeing without rereading? “There.”

“Keep the copies,” Madara grumbled impatiently. “And get out.”

It looked like Tobirama wanted to say something, mouth already opened, when a hand latched on his wrist, pinning it down, the sound of skin slapping against skin incredibly loud.

Tobirama flinched so hard that his knees hit the table, rattling it enough for the bottle of ink to slid off and shatter on the floor. The sudden sounds cut through the tensed silence that had settled over them like a whip, jolting almost everyone into motion: most of the Elders scrambled to their feet, the guards on the walls had their sharingan blazing, Komui his weapon drawn.

Hashirama stared at where Izuna’s sickeningly white fingers were clasped around Tobirama’s wrist – it looked so small and bony dwarfed by the wide sleeves of his yukata. The grip couldn’t have been strong, Izuna was physically too weak for that. Yet, Tobirama wasn’t freeing himself and his arm was shaking although, it was hard to tell whether those were his own tremors or Izuna’s.

A quick side glance showed him that Madara was perched forward on his toes, shoulders stiff with tension, but he held himself back. Impressive. Perhaps because this was only the second time now that Izuna was doing something out of his own volition; the first being his unrelenting insistence to partake in this trial.

Izuna didn’t immediately say anything. His head was tilted downward, wet black fringes falling over his bandaged eyes, as if he were in deep thought. When he did speak, Hashirama couldn’t help but wince at the hoarseness of his voice. “Do you still want it?”

Tobirama frowned. “What?”

“He still has another eye, Father,” Izuna said, tone pitched unnaturally high, a hint of frenzy creeping into his blank features. “But I want both, I can take both. Please, Father. Let me…”

What- oh. Was he… was Izuna _imitating_ – Tobirama? His insides clenched at the thought, at the idea that Tobirama might have wanted to have both eyes. But-

Stunned, Hashirama watched as Tobirama’s already pale face seemed to turn as white as Izuna’s current complexion. Or was that a trick of the light?

“You-” Tobirama paused or maybe his voice broke, mouth twitching as if it was unsure what to do. Izuna took that moment of hesitation and lurched forward, ignoring Madara’s indignant, “Izuna!” and grasped both of Tobirama’s shoulders.

Curious and anxious in equal measures, Hashirama moved closer. Stared as Izuna leaned toward Tobirama’s ear, one hand now firmly shielding his mouth from all the sharingan gazes focused on them. It was impossible to hear or see what he was saying.

But suddenly, _abruptly_ Tobirama pushed him back hard and was on his feet in an instance, hurriedly swiping the treaty along. Madara rushed to his brother’s side fast enough to catch his fall and Izuna folded into his embrace with a pitiful groan – it probably was the only thing keeping Madara from lunging at Tobirama.

“Senju! What do you think you’re doing?!”

Tobirama, though, wasn’t listening. He had the treaty crumpled in one hand while the other was twisted into his yukata at his hip, and he whirled around without sparing either brother another glance. And _froze_ when he came face to face with Hashirama.

There was a wild gleam in Tobirama’s eyes. Faint and barely noticeable but it was there. But the longer he just stared at him, the more the wildness faded and something entirely else bled into it, something like… _accusation_? Hashirama's breath hitched with shock. Why? What had Izuna said?

He had never told any of the Uchiha anything about Tobirama, no secrets, nothing – he hadn’t talked about his brother at all. Was this about losing the war, then? Although, Hashirama had helped the Uchiha passively, in the end the Senju had been responsible for their own fall. Considering how rational Tobirama was, surely he was aware of that.

Was it about _leaving_? That seemed ridiculous since Tobirama knew perfectly well what had prompted him to take that final step, and besides, his brother had adapted terrifyingly well in his absence, hadn’t he? Which wasn’t surprising, Tobirama had always been disturbingly self-sufficient. And aside from that one time when Hashirama had saved Izuna from certain death at Tobirama’s hand, his brother had never tried to persuade him to come back home, had never reached out again.

What could have Izuna said to elicit such a reaction?

Hashirama wasn’t even sure if he had seen correctly, his mind struggled to wrap itself around the ridiculousness of it, when Tobirama had already brushed past him.

He glanced toward Izuna whose smile, half hidden against Madara’s chest, was as vicious as it was pleased, and his intrigue grew. But there was no way that the boy would tell him what this had been about, and no one else seemed inclined to ask. Madara was too busy checking him over for invisible injuries, the rooms’ other occupants fell in a buzz of angry chatter and displeased, loud voices, except for Kokoro-san – as if no one had seen Tobirama crack in front of a frail Uchiha Izuna when he hadn’t in the face of a room full of soldiers.

Perhaps Tobirama _hadn’t_ and Hashirama was going mad.

What reason would Tobirama have to look at him like that, after all?


	8. One thing after another.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, I hope that you're all safe and healthy in these difficult times. 
> 
> Secondly, yes. I'm alive and well :) I don't even know what to say, tbh, lol. Did I have a writer's block? Ugh, yes, a massive one (it was really frustrating. None of my writing seemed right; I can't tell you how many times I've re-written this chapter alone). Work? (Am always busy trying to catch up with my studies and I still feel like I'm drowning in them.) - I'm slowly getting back to writing, thankfully, but let's see about my rhythm. But I'd like to say that I usually try not to abandon a work even if updates might take longer sometimes and it's not like I lost my motivation for this!
> 
> Anyway, I finished the chapter a few days ago and have been stalling ever since (ﾍﾟ◇ﾟ)」I'll post it now before I can decide to tinker any more, lmao. Oh, and I also see that I've got many new reviews which I still have to read (hence, the lack of reply) and I'll get to it soon!
> 
> Last time, we had the trial, Tobirama getting the upper hand there before Izuna's remarks managed to throw him off. This sets 'right' after. Enjoy the long chapter :)
> 
> Also if you ever want to chit-chat/talk about the fic/have questions, you can hit me up on tumblr, link in the end notes! Thank you for your patience ❤️

* * *

_Roots – or vines? Worms? – were slithering underneath his skin and winding around his bones._

_It was driving him mad. Disgust and nausea were warring in the pit of his stomach._

_They didn’t hurt. Not anymore, at least. Nothing even close to the mind-numbing pain when Father had cut the skin between his collarbones and pressed the seeds into the bleeding wound. When Father had grown them there, wild and twitching, trying to fit where they shouldn’t. No pain now. But it was revolting, this sensation of something crawling within him and feeding off his chakra._

_It was all he had been feeling for days. Or had it been only hours?_

_Yet, what truly made him want to curl in on himself were those insistent thumbs – brushing from his collarbones toward his shoulders and leaving burning trails in their wake. Again, and again and again._

_“…n’t know what’s gotten into you,” Father’s voice nudged against the fog engulfing his consciousness; it was hard making out the words, but Father would be more incensed if he didn’t. “Compassion? Pity? Are those good enough reasons?”_

_One of the thumbs stopped right where his shoulder merged into his arm and_ pressed down _. Fire exploded under the pressure, sudden and violent, and the vines at that spot lurched and thrashed against his bones and flesh, and- and he wanted to scream, his throat burnt, but all that tumbled out was a pathetic string of breathless gasps._

_“Lying to me. Letting that Uchiha scum escape. Oh, I have been too lenient again, haven’t I?” The pressure was gone as were the scorching touches. Instead, Father’s hands were in his hair, carding through it so gently that his stomach churned with dread. “Unfortunately, this lesson won’t be permanent enough to teach you. But I’m sure little Haru will remind you were your loyalties lie.”_

_And Tobirama’s senses snapped to attention, cutting through the haze, his heart quivered and shriveled in terror, hi-_

Tobirama shot upright with a start, his back hitting whatever was behind him hard enough to make it topple over. For a moment, he didn’t know what was going on. The whispers of something slithering through his ribcage and the painful sensation of his heart trying to break out of his chest distracted his still fogged mind.

Was he… in his lab? Had he fallen asleep? What had woken him up?

Then, as his groggy consciousness struggled to free itself from the terror his dream had planted into every inch of his stiff body, it slowly and dreadfully dawned on him.

Foreign chakra signatures.

Hot and agitated and frustrated.

 _Uchiha_. Some he recognized, some he didn’t, but there were _so many_. All over the compound.

He stumbled to his feet and toward the door, ignoring the pitiful ache in his limbs. In his blind haste, he kicked several stacks of papers that were carelessly scattered over the cold floor and bumped into at least two creaky tables. It was dark and his sight didn’t adjust fast enough.

Was it night already? For how long had he been holed up in here? _Kami_ , he had only wanted to get a grip on his erratic emotions and compose himself, then find Setsuna-san to heal that bruise on his cheek that was still throbbing lightly before he had to deal with his clan. It wasn’t odd for him to lock himself away in his lab when he needed to think and everyone knew to let him be for a while, but _today_? When they surely had been anxious to see him, to hear everything about the trial? He hadn’t even told Hitomi, Hayato and Takeshi anything on the way back, they hadn’t asked, either.

How could he have been so stupidly careless?! Not even catching a whiff of this many signatures approaching their home? Perhaps someone else had sensed them fast enough to have the rest prepare instead of being caught unawares. But then, surely he would have been sought out and alerted? _Shitshitshit_.

The clearer his senses became, the more his panic thrashed in his veins.

Two Uchiha whom he knew to be veterans but didn’t know the names of were circling around the Elders’ council building, there was a whole batch of Uchiha at Father’s unused house, Madara was _too close to his_ -

Tobirama froze in the doorway, one foot out and one inside, as he recognized two very familiar figures in front of him. They were hovering a few feet away from one of the four wards he had drawn into the moist earth with his blood. The heavy thump of the door slamming against the wall on his left was not enough to drown out the sudden thunderous roaring in his ears, and the panic simmering in his blood not enough to distract him from the new bout of nausea crashing over him.

The surprise receded as quickly from Izuna’s features as it had appeared, replaced by a smile sharp enough to cut. At his side, Hikaku straightened warily, one hand twitching over the hilt of the sword at his hip while the other was wrapped around Izuna’s elbow, steadying him or perhaps reeling him in. Tobirama hadn’t noticed them until now. _Pathetic_.

“There you are, Senju! And here I almost thought that you were hiding,” Izuna said cheerfully.

His voice wasn’t as hoarse as it had been the last time they had spoken but it still sounded raw and close to a whisper. For a terrifying instant, Tobirama found himself back in that damned council room, frozen in place by the sickly bitter flavor to Izuna’s unstable chakra, his rival’s taunting mimicry still ringing in his ear as he leaned in to breathe, _“Is it a Senju-“_ Panicked, he dug the untrimmed nails of left fingers into his palm until the stinging ache jostled him back into the present under the curious scrutiny of Izuna and Hikaku. _No. Don’t, no_.

He couldn’t move his tongue, he realized, shocked. It quivered under a short, futile attempt to lift – for what, he had no idea – but it wouldn’t budge, and Tobirama felt trepidation flood his already tight throat.

Izuna quirked an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed by his lack of response, and shared a quick glance with Hikaku before focusing his non-bandaged eye back on Tobirama. Had it always been this shade of black? A bottomless pit?

He shook off Hikaku’s grip, who tried to grab him again but aborted the motion half-way with his fingers twitching uselessly in the air, and walked a little closer to the ward, each step slow and careful, until he came to an abrupt halt in front of an invisible barrier. It crackled and sizzled in warning where Izuna’s toes were touching it, though Tobirama knew that they didn’t actually hurt unless someone was trying to force their way in. His legs seemed unsteady as if they might fold underneath him at any moment now and the barest hint of a grimace pulled the corners or his mouth down.

“What are you doing?!” Hikaku hissed after him. “If Ma-”

“We have things to discuss,” Izuna talked over his clansman. Any false cheer had disappeared from his tone and the seriousness taking its place had dread trickle into Tobirama’s blood. “Will you let me in? _I_ don’t mind an audience, of course, but I doubt that you feel the same.”

Being _alone_ with Izuna? The mere thought left him sick to his stomach. Of course, Tobirama had been expecting that his rival would eventually seek him out after that stunt he had pulled during the mock trial. Izuna wanted something from him, that much was obvious otherwise he would have revealed his knowledge to that brother of his and destroyed any chance of peace for the Senju. Wasn’t this what made them so evenly matched on the battlefield? This willingness to ruthlessly exploit any weakness their opponent showed? Albeit Izuna loved to play whereas Tobirama preferred a quick end.

But this? This was too soon. Tobirama hadn’t had enough time to truly process that Izuna, out of everyone, _knew_.

He shook his head, a little too frantically than he would have liked to, and jutted his chin out, indicating past both of the Uchiha. Not that far in the distance, barely concealed by small tree line, lights were glowing like a torchlight waiting to lead them back to the compound.

“We signed a treaty,” Izuna huffed without turning around to look what he was pointing at. “I assure you, Uchiha stand by their word. No one will come to harm unless they really provoke it.”

Which wasn’t reassuring at all. On both sides, there were enough shinobi who could lose their temper and attack. None of his people were happy about how this ceasefire, this tentative _peace_ was being build, after all, and the Uchiha only needed a reason – but Tobirama couldn’t sense any fighting. A lot of agitation and brewing resentment, yes. Tōka’s chakra was running especially hot close to Madara, Takeshi was surrounded by a handful of fuming Senju veterans, but no one was fighting. _Yet_.

“We could also wait until everyone else catches up,” Izuna continued wryly when Tobirama still didn’t react. His narrowed gaze slipped to the left and right and behind Tobirama, taking in the building and, briefly, those at the side. “That’s your lab, right? They’ll want to confiscate everything in there as well.”

Confiscate… _oh_. Tobirama’s throat eased slightly yet, he couldn’t bring himself to relax. They were here to confiscate the researches. Already? He _had_ expected them to do this without warning, and yet… it hadn’t even been a full day since he had signed the treaty.

“We can do this right in front of everyone, if you are so adamant about it.” There was a clear note of frustration wedging itself between Izuna’s words now; he definitely didn’t want to talk in front of an audience. And wasn’t that odd?

Tobirama eyed Hikaku warily. The guy wasn’t making any move to stop Izuna anymore but there was an obviously curious edge to his scowl. Tobirama swallowed around a stubborn lump of trepidation that still blocked his lungs, allowed himself a tensed moment of hesitation and released a wave of chakra to disable his wards. Izuna huffed, not surprised in the least, and walked over while Hikaku remained rooted where he stood.

For a heartbeat, Tobirama considered not moving out of the way. If Izuna wanted to talk – how had his brother let him out of his sight to talk to Tobirama? – he preferred to do it out in the open instead of being trapped inside. Escape routes were important, especially if he absolutely _couldn’t_ but _might_ be tempted to lash out. He also didn’t want anyone in his lab, encroaching on his territory, his pride and shame. Not like this. Not when he hadn’t been given a chance to mentally prepare himself for the inevitable invasion.

But outside, there was Hikaku watching them like a hawk. It wouldn’t be long until the rest of these strangers noticed the labs and would be all over his haven.

And Izuna wasn’t slowing down, he might try to _bodily_ -

Tobirama stumbled back clumsily to let Izuna step inside and kick the door shut behind himself.

The window on the right side of the door was tipped open, allowing a gentle breeze and soft reddish light to stream inside. Was it dawn or sunrise? Now that he let himself focus fully on that bottomless, black gaze rather than the familiar bright red one he was used to, the darkness around them seemed heavier than it was.

Almost casually, although Tobirama suspected it was more for support, Izuna leaned back against the wooden door, hands crossed behind himself. “You’ve been awfully quiet,” he commented with the barest hint of puzzlement echoing through his tone.

Tobirama didn’t offer any reply. Even if his tongue hadn’t been this awfully heavy, he _couldn’t_ speak while his mind was split between too many things – worrying about what was happening at the compound, trying to process that Izuna was actually _here_ despite looking like he would keel over any moment and desperately willing to push any remnants of that dream and memories of the council room away.

Izuna tilted his head until it was resting on his right shoulder, regarding him thoughtfully through his eyelashes. The silence was uncomfortable and the way Izuna was observing him as if he was searching for something very specific was unwelcome. Yet, it was preferable over the pathetic hitch in his pulse when Izuna opened his mouth, “Tell me, Senju.” _Don’t. Ask_. “What is the worth of an Uchiha without a sharingan?”

Stunned, Tobirama reeled back, the motion sending a jolt of pain through his stiff neck.

“It’s worse than losing a limb,” Izuna continued. The bitterness of his smile drenched his words to their core. “It’s like Hashirama without his mokuton. Or you,” He brought forth one of his hands and tipped his forefinger against his temple, “without that brain of yours. An Uchiha without his sharingan? _Worthless_.”

He couldn’t find the energy to be offended by the implication that he had no worth beyond his intelligence. It wasn’t wrong, was it? Tobirama’s wasn’t as insanely gifted as some other shinobi were – Hashirama, Madara, even Izuna. All he had was impeccable control over his chakra and a mind that never stopped working. So, he understood what Izuna was saying – years of being terrified that Father might destroy his brain made it impossible not to understand.

But _why_ was Izuna saying any of this? He had one eye and Tobirama would return the other once he had figures out how to without risking his own sanity.

When Izuna spoke again, the fake sweetness from earlier dripped into the bitterness. “I was really confused when you let me go _and_ let me keep the other eye despite begging your father to let you have it.”

The fingers of his left hand dug deeper into the skin as he, unsuccessfully, willed himself to keep the images – _Father bent over Izuna’s limp form, kunai digging into the tender flesh of his throat, blood trickling down_ – at bay. So distracted was he by his attempts that he didn’t try to deny his role in Izuna’s escape. His rival wasn’t stupid. If he hadn’t been able to flee at the beginning of his imprisonment when physically and mentally fine, he wouldn’t have managed to do it on his own in his weakened and drugged state and with his mind in complete disarray.

“But then _Hashirama_ ,” Izuna’s voice curled around Hashirama’s name with so much contempt that Tobirama could taste it like burning poison in the back of his throat, “talked about how the chakra coils in my eye were destroyed. And…” Izuna blinked and Tobirama felt his spine go stiff as a familiar sensation coursed through him, weaker than he was used to but an Uchiha’s chakra steamed distinctly like that only when they were about to activate- but there was nothing. The lid over Izuna’s eye fluttered erratically and the edge of his pupils were tinted a light red but nothing happened. It stayed black. With a chilling chuckle, Izuna hit the back of his head against wood, hard and unforgiving. “Damaged beyond repair, the asshole said! So it doesn’t fucking matter to me whether give me back my eye or not!”

 _Kami_. Tobirama swallowed bits of his overflowing dread, it was foul and disgusting and had his stomach protest in revulsion.

The final step in the process of forcing his body to accept the sharingan transplant – a lengthy process of gathering his own information, sieving through the accounts Father had given him, piecing together whatever little the captive Uchiha had revealed over the years and figuring out the composition of their blood and chakra – had been to absorb the chakra that circulated through Izuna’s eyes when his dōjutsu was activated. Repeatedly. He had designed that absorption jutsu himself a long time ago and it had been problematic in its earlier stages, but he had been sure that he had smoothed out its faults by now.

Had he been wrong? He hadn’t noticed any damage to Izuna’s chakra coils after each session but he also hadn’t had the time to check him over before his escape, and he certainly was no medic. Had he… _accidentally_ ruined Izuna’s eye?

“So, I got it!” Izuna continued, worryingly light. He… he didn’t sound _right_ at all. “Cripple me and _let me live_ with it! You were always a ruthless bastard but I never realized that you’re also a fucking sadist.”

“I…” Tobirama trailed off, partly surprised that he was able to speak up and partly unsure about what he wanted to say. What _could_ he say? That he was sorry? That this hadn’t been his intention? He was fairly sure that Izuna would snap, the guy already seemed on the brim of madness. _And_ he was blocking the damned door.

As if reading that last thought of his, Izuna pushed himself away and swayed forward, his gait resembling that of someone tipsy, not fully drunk yet but on their way toward it. Tobirama suppressed the urge to flinch back and put more distance between them, but he couldn’t stop his left foot from twitching – something that Izuna definitely caught.

When there were only inches separating them, Izuna stopped and for too long, just stared at him, his gaze wide and wild and frenzied. Then, his expression smoothed out, and an eerie calm settled into his posture and chakra; Tobirama steeled himself for what was coming. A part of him, deep down and anxious, _expected_ it. “You never answered my question,” Izuna said lightly as he leaned forward, close enough that Tobirama could feel his breath on his face. “Is it a Senju thing to kiss your own father like some wanton whore?”

Yet, despite expecting this, despite having heard this before – repeatedly, for Izuna’s whispers had refused to leave him be until sleep had claimed him – Tobirama flinched, a full body flinch that had Izuna jerk back in surprise.

Izuna… he _had_ been unconscious back then. There was no way that he hadn’t been; Tobirama had made sure, he had observed Izuna’s lax and bloodied face intensively before he had turned toward Father, still hovering over their captive. _How_ could Izuna know, then? It was too detailed a question to be a mere bluff. And more importantly, why hadn’t he told anyone? If it was revenge that he sought, why not use this? It would stigmatize the Senju further, beyond repair, and Tobirama would-

“What do you want?” he grit out through clenched teeth.

The smile on Izuna’s lips was unkind and hollow. “A replacement. A kekkei genkai for a kekkei genkai.”

This time, Tobirama didn’t try to stop himself from stepping back, the shock sizzling through his vein too sudden, too strong. “Are you mad?!”

“Probably,” Izuna conceded, voice turning sharper. “What does it matter? I need to bridge that gap _you_ left behind. I need to be useful to my clan.”

Tobirama wasn’t sure what was more puzzling: the fact that Izuna was revealing vulnerabilities to him – unhinged, he sounded completely out of it – or that the guy honestly believed that injecting a foreign ability into his body would compensate for what he had lost. Of course, Izuna had always relied heavily on his dōjutsu, but he wasn’t exactly helpless without it, either.

And would his clan accept that? After having been so vehemently against the Senju was stealing bloodlines? No, Izuna wasn’t thinking straight.

Besides, stealing kekkei genkai was what had landed the Senju into their current mess. Izuna couldn’t honestly demand of him that he risk his clan’s future like this.

“I would be breaking the treaty.”

Izuna wriggled his hand dismissively. “I’ll handle that.”

Which was reassuring at all. Worst case scenario would be that neither of them were spared.

Impatiently, Izuna clicked his fingers in front of Tobirama’s face. “Come on. You do owe me compensation, don’t you think?”

_“You have to compensate for your failure, don’t you think so, son?”_

And Tobirama allowed himself to soak in the helpless bitterness that his panic and dread had morphed into. “You’re not exactly giving me a chance.”

“Oh, but I am!” Izuna leaned back on the balls of his feet, arms crossed behind his back, eye burning with something that Tobirama couldn’t put his finger on. It wasn’t mirth or satisfaction. “You can refuse, obviously. And I’m free to share my information. Hashirama first, what do you say?”

Tobirama whirled around hastily and the pressed the back of his hand against his mouth to try to stop himself from dry heaving. Thought of people telling him about _honor_ and _shame_ and _duty_ , thought of his brother condemning taboos without exception, about how outsiders would judge this when his own clan was obviously revulsed by Father’s desire for him- He couldn’t do this. He wouldn’t survive that kind of humiliation.

“Does it…” He grimaced at the scratchiness of his voice and cleared his throat, trying to get rid of the croak. “Does it have to be the mokuton?”

Like a curious bird, Izuna cocked his head to the side in consideration. “I haven’t thought that far. _Could_ you do that?” He paused and crinkled his nose in disgust before Tobirama could even mull over this. “Na, that would be kind of insulting.”

Good because Tobirama would rather slit his own throat than dive back into the gnawing pit that was the mokuton. Although, he wasn't sure how he was supposed to do anything without his research at hand and depending on how long it would take until Izuna would approach him again, without his labs as well. But that was a bridge he would cross when he had to. Right now, Tobirama refused to think more on this subject - he felt too raw and the various chakra signatures tinged brushing against the back of his mind, tinged with tension and fear, had him sick with worry. All he wanted was to get as far away from Izuna as possible.

“Decide whatever kekkei genkai you want,” he grunted. “I’ll see then.”

Even if it endangered this peace he was striving toward. Even if it put him in a precarious situation. Even if Madara were to kill him if he ever found out.

There was no exclamation of victory, no further mockery, he couldn’t even sense any hint of satisfaction. Instead, when Izuna spoke again, his tone was careful, almost cautious. Such a dizzying contrast to his frenzied state just moments ago, “Why would you do that, anyway? I know you guys are pretty fucked up in the head but your _father_?”

Would his brother sound like this if he came to know? Disgusted and confused at once? He huffed, shook his head and turned around to walk past Izuna, proud that his legs didn’t tremble. “Don’t talk about things you have no idea about, Uchiha. Arrange everything and I’ll _compensate_ you.”

Oddly enough, Izuna neither stopped him nor did he say anything else.

* * *

At the edge of his consciousness, Madara felt Tobirama move away from Izuna and Hikaku. Although his brother and cousin weren’t following him, their chakra signatures were thrumming steadily. Unharmed. He let the tension seep out of his shoulders and with it stopped infusing his chakra into the environment but couldn’t completely shake off the wariness weighing down on his muscles nor ignore the persistent itch underneath his skin.

Izuna wouldn’t tell him what this had been about, he was fairly certain about that – his brother hadn’t been talking or doing anything much ever since waking up, anyway, but if he really didn’t want to share something, there was little that could change his mind.

It still made him uneasy how fervently Izuna had insisted on talking to Tobirama _alone_ , especially if the sole purpose of such a confrontation was for his brother to get a rise out of the other boy. The mere thought of Izuna having been in such close proximity to the person who had stolen and ruined his sharingan made his stomach churn sickeningly. But what else could he do for Izuna that wasn’t useless? If this conversation brought him some peace of mind, if it dragged him out of his disturbingly withdrawn shell, then Madara would swallow his own discomfort for now.

Snapping himself out of his musings, Madara inspected the kunai he had caught in the air before focusing his attention on the brats he certainly hadn’t expected to find in this room. Or anywhere in this house, for that matter – it was simply bizarre. Scrolls, books, weapons and body parts for creepy experiments, sure, most of that was what he was looking for. But why in Amaterasu’s name was Tobirama’s house overflowing with _children_? Bad tempered ones, at that!

The boy who had tried to aim for his eye – that weird grey couldn’t be his natural hair color, could it? – was scowling at him so darkly that Madara scowled right back on instinct. He was kneeling on a futon at the other end of the room, right next to a table that was completely buried underneath a stack of books and scrolls, and he was shielding another kid behind him. All Madara could make out of the second one were very pale fingers and auburn locks falling over the shoulders of the scowling brat.

There was a familiar armor clattered on the other side of the futon. This specific shade of blue – one that over the years had crawled into more Senju shinobi’s armor – was carved so deeply into his mind that his mind automatically translated it into _Tobirama_. Hence, this had to be Tobirama’s bedroom. Or a mixture of a bedroom and an office if those papers and scrolls filling up the few cupboard and scattered around the floor were anything to go by. So, what the fuck were murderous children doing here?

Madara exhaled slowly through his nose and let the kunai drop with a loud clang. “It’s impolite to attack a guest. _Very_ impolite.”

The brat scrunched up his nose like one would when confronted with an especially disgusting insect. “Aren’t you an _Uchiha_?”

How could he even tell? Madara’s uchiwa was on his back and he wasn’t using his sharingan. “Why does…” He paused, uncertain why he was about to argue. Above his head, he could hear heavy steps and the murmurs of soft voices, the occasional whimper that was too light and squeaky to belong to any of his men. It grounded him enough to focus on the task at hand. “You two shouldn’t be here for-”

“ _You_ shouldn’t be here!” the kid huffed. If he had been standing, he probably might have stomped his foot for good measure. “This is _our_ home.”

He was trembling ever so slightly, Madara noted. Both of them were, but it wasn’t that obvious with the rude brat – he was purposely making himself taller despite kneeling and his posture was ramrod straight, but the hand that the other kid was clutching with both of his own was definitely shaking. The other ones they had found earlier slumbering around an irori in what he assumed was a sitting room had been spooked as well and much worse at hiding their fear. Madara had tried not to pay too much attention to them so he wasn’t sure who had shuffled them out.

It had to be terrifying, he supposed. Not just simple strangers but shinobi whom their clan had been at war with barging into their homes like this…

Something tight and uncomfortable coiled around his ribcage, aching enough to have his gaze waver. Fucking perfect. It wasn’t enough that Izuna’s messed up situation was crushing them both right now, the whispers of Izuna’s sudden inadequacy among the clan weren’t enough, the fact that none of the Senju had greeted them at their gates – and why the hell did over half of their compound resemble a ghost town? – and now refused to bloody cooperate wasn’t enough either; his stupid conscience just had to stir its ugly head too on top of everything else.

He couldn’t wait to be done here.

“I’m not throwing you out,” he pushed past his grit teeth. “I’m just telling you to step out for a bit and let me finish my work.”

The kid didn’t budge. “Tobirama-sama doesn’t like anyone touching his things!”

As if the mere mention of his name were a summon, Madara could sense Tobirama’s subdued chakra scratching against his awareness even though he wasn’t actively trying to sense it. Tobirama had always been infuriatingly fast but this… perhaps wherever he had been holed up in was not that far away from here.

Although, insulting as it had been that none of the Senju had greeted them at the gates, it had been a relief not to have to face Tobirama so soon again – Madara’s blood still sizzled furiously when he recollected that damned trial and the fact that that bastard Senju knew secrets for which the Uchiha have silenced better men throughout their history. Madara really didn’t want to have to deal with Tobirama today, especially not when he was this irritable.

Keeping his tone even, he tried again, “Tobirama knows about this, alright? He’s agreed to it.”

“ _Sure_.” How could someone so small fit so much contempt into one word?

Madara stepped fully inside, patience thinning. They were lucky that he had been the one to stumble upon them, anyone else and they would have already been dragged out screaming and kicking. “Listen, you little-”

“Haru. Fuyuhiro.”

 _Great_. Madara refused to whirl around as fast as instinct demanded but couldn’t do anything against his muscles locking down almost painfully.

Both brats jumped to their feet, fear apparently forgotten, and rushed past Madara to where Tobirama had appeared in the doorway. They clung to his legs each, tension visibly seeping out of them in an instant.

Tobirama looked as if he had just woken up: hair a mess, eyelids drooped ever so slightly, wearing the same yukata he had worn during the trial. And the bruise from Madara’s punch was still adorning his cheek, although it had turned a subdued purple by now. Not that Madara minded the sight – asshole had deserved much more than that – but it was odd that he hadn’t bothered to heal it yet.

It was odd that he was showing up like _this_ in front of his enemies, to begin with. Unkempt and bedraggled, as if they had managed to catch him off-guard with their presence. Which couldn’t be the case, could it? As much as he was loath to admit, Tobirama’s sensory reach was terrifying. There was simply no way anyone could approach him undetected.

And yet, the Senju hadn’t been expecting them. There had even been some key shinobi missing, Tōka among those, and it made no sense.

“So gracious of you to finally grace us with your presence,” Madara grunted unkindly, the words grating over his tongue like sand.

Tobirama didn’t spare him a glance as he crouched down in front of the kids, seemingly unbothered by how they immediately clung to his shoulders. He gave them a careful once-over. “Are you hurt?”

Madara bristled in indignation. “I wouldn’t harm children, _Senju_.” He never had and never would, enemies or not. The child hunting squads had been a major issue between him and his father and even now when he thought about them, it never failed to churn his stomach with disgust. For all that Tajima hadn’t been a terrible father and leader, the man’s perception of what one could and should use to reach their goals had been pretty skewed. Madara was nothing like that.

Tobirama didn’t exactly look up but Madara could see his pupils moving behind his lashes. He pursed his lips in doubt, only adding to Madara’s simmering ire. “I did not mean to offend,” he eventually settled on blankly.

“Your existence is offense enough,” Madara huffed.

That had the rude brat twist his neck to scowl at him. “ _You_ are an offense! Have you seen yourself?”

“I think,” Tobirama cut off whatever scathing remark Madara had on the tip of his tongue, voice raised ever so slightly. “You two should go and wait outside, hm?”

After stomping down his instinctual unease and ignoring the anger brimming underneath his skin, Madara turned his back to the little Senju gathering, pulled out a scroll from his belt and started to gather whatever he could make out that wasn’t a weapon or furniture. The faster he was finished, the faster he could leave.

He had his ravens scry over the compound and also let them sweep through the houses, even those abandoned ones stretching from the gates to over half of the compound; they had a keen eye for faint chakra signatures which was handy now that he saw how many of Tobirama’s scrolls had seals on them. If they missed any, Hatake Kana’s beast, whom Madara had _borrowed_ , would sniff it out, hopefully.

“We… You’re hurt!”

Curiously, Madara paused, fingers stilling around a thin, yellowing book. The bruise on the insufferable prick’s face had been there since yesterday. Why the surprise?

“I wouldn’t call this hurt,” Tobirama said drily. “It’s just a scrape.”

“But-!”

“ _Haru_.” So, that was the rude brat’s name. “Everyone’s outside. Go, join them.”

“You-”

“Now.”

Madara frowned at the pages in his grip, their clumsy scrawls fuzzy in front of him. He knew what Tobirama sounded like when he was frustrated or angry – even if his face rarely showed it – or when he commanded his subordinates. This gruff tone scattered with obvious exhaustion and the barest hint of gentleness taking off its edges was nothing like that.

Even monsters could be domesticated in their own home, apparently. Not a completely foreign notion to him and yet, it was jarring.

“We’re going,” a much softer voice spoke up.

When Madara glanced over his shoulder to catch the kids leaving, he also caught Haru’s poisonous glare before the brat disappeared. _Unbelievable_.

There was a loud thud somewhere above them followed by a string of curses and the sound of glass breaking. He could see Tobirama grimace, but he didn’t make to check up on what had happened. Instead, he straightened up, the motion seeming almost sluggish to Madara, and leaned sideways against the doorframe, gaze slowly fixating on Madara. It wasn’t anything out of the ordinary, how aloof and closed off Tobirama appeared, but his gaze lacked its usual sharpness and that had Madara’s nerves on high alert.

Perhaps he was overthinking but something about this whole operation felt off.

Tobirama nodded toward the stack Madara had gathered on top of his scroll, “Not everything there is related to the experiments.”

“Too bad,” Madara grunted and returned his attention to the task at hand. He had neither the time nor the motivation to check each book and document and filter them out accordingly. This wasn’t about being considerate toward the Senju.

Tobirama remained eerily quiet for the remainder of the time; it was creepy. He just stood there and watched Madara flit around his room, not giving away any hint of displeasure at his private space being invaded like this. He didn’t ask questions, neither about the confiscation nor about the procedures going forward, and he didn’t mention anything about Izuna, either. Not that Madara had expected him to but this whole scenario of Tobirama keeping deathly still while Uchiha encroached on his compound was unsettling.

It was almost as if he wasn’t present – and yet, it was impossible to shake off the boy’s presence: it had the hairs on his neck stand up attentively and his muscles stiff with anticipation.

Eventually unable to take the oppressive silence any longer, he found himself asking the first thing that came to mind, “Who’s your heir?”

Where there had been unsettling calm before, thick, crackling tension filled the air now. It was familiar, though, and Madara’s muscles loosened a little in response.

Then, quietly, “Why?”

With the books and documents sealed safely in his scroll, Madara slowly turned around, squinting at Tobirama. Granted, either of them starting small talk with each other was bizarre, but Tobirama seemed genuinely puzzled by and apprehensive of the question. “I’ll need to know, obviously.” He was met by incomprehension. “Didn’t you bother to read over our terms?” Tobirama’s left eyebrow sunk ever so slightly in response, rendering Madara speechless for an awkward heartbeat. What the fuck. “Are you _serious_?”

“It’s not like I can change any of the terms,” Tobirama said, sounding tired and annoyed at once.

“So, you won’t even keep yourself informed? Really? What an exemplary clan head you are.”

Obvious annoyance was creeping into his otherwise exhausted features. Viciously, Madara hoped that he been like this when he had met with Izuna. His brother leeched off others’ weaknesses as if they sustained his very existence and twisting his foot into any cracks that _Tobirama_ revealed would have been especially satisfying.

With a dragged out sigh Tobirama pushed himself away from the doorframe, frowned into the hallway – at what, Madara couldn’t imagine; from the lack of sounds he assumed that his squad had already left the house – before demanding, “Can’t you just say what you mean?!”

A high pitch swung into Tobirama’s frustrated tone, almost making it sound as if he was _whining_. Fuck, Madara’s ears were malfunctioning, weren’t they? “If you’d read it, you’d know,” he couldn’t help but hiss, relishing the growing creases between Tobirama’s eyebrows.

He could be fucking with Madara, pretending not to have read the terms so he had a reason not to tell him anything, but in that case, he deserved to be messed with. Though, after a moment’s consideration because he didn’t need his squads to be met with stubborn resistance the next time they came around, he decided to settle on something else, “You guys will have to pack up and leave within a day or two.”

Tobirama’s head whipped around in alarm. “What?”

The idiot really hadn’t gone over the contract and Madara had no idea how to react to that. Senju Tobirama was meticulous if nothing else, he was cunning beyond his age and someone like that didn’t just decide to submit himself half-blindly to his enemies. Heck, he had had a supposed _cure_ to the sharingan’s negative effects up his sleeve in preparation of a trial that he had probably smelled coming miles away. That he hadn’t yet started to pick apart their contract and sniff out any weak links to use to his own advantage… was unthinkable.

“Can’t leave you unsupervised now, can I? And that is easier done if you’re close by,” Madara explained.

It wasn’t as if that had been an easy choice to make. Keep the Senju on a short leash by putting them under supervision and cutting off any of their shinobi activities? Everyone had been on board with that. Taking them in and providing for them like you would for refugees so they wouldn’t die out before the village was ready? Kami, those had been endless discussions about money and who was willing to share their livelihood and who wasn’t.

In whatever afterlife he had ended up, his father was probably seething at Madara’s readiness, reluctant as it had been, to share the Uchiha’s stocks with their mortal enemies. But he thought of the abandoned parts of this compound, of how few people there actually seemed to be in the clan – he hadn’t ever realized how many losses the Senju had taken over the years – and how many of those were _children_ who were too thin for comfort, and of the dead fields and encroached upon territory they had passed on their way over, and rolled his eyes, exasperated. “We’re basically doing you a favor anyway, aren’t we? How much longer would you guys survive here?”

Tobirama’s hands curled into trembling fists at his sides but he didn’t disagree. Instead, he asked, “And what’s that about my heir? I don’t have any kids if you haven’t noticed,” he added drily.

Neither did Madara and yet, Izuna would succeed him if he were to die untimely. Although, that was on very shaky grounds at the moment given Izuna’s condition and the rampant displeasure with Madara’s refusal to name another heir that had been festering through his clan like a rotten disease.

He crossed his arms over his chest, hands slipping into his long sleeves, and took a deep breath to cool down the fire starting to lick at his blood. He wasn’t eager to engage in a fight.

“You might die before having kids,” he said. “Do you think me a fool, Senju?”

“Why does it matter though?”

 _If you shithead had just read-_ “It matters because the last thing anyone needs is another fucking lunatic at the head of this fucking clan!”

His voice bounced off the walls of the now rather empty room, followed by silence. Tobirama’s expression smoothed out into a blank canvas, any traces of emotion gone instantly. He sauntered inside, walked past Madara as if there was nothing wrong with turning his back to him and sat down on his futon, leaning back on his palms, and staring up at the roof.

“Well, I haven’t been clan head for too long, if you recollect, Uchiha- _san_.”

He groaned and huffed in exasperation. _Whatever_. Eventually, the asshole would have to name someone and whether he liked it or not, the allied clans would meddle. If it were someone young enough to impression and mold, there wouldn’t be much of a fuss – as long as the Senju wouldn’t object to their next leader being sort of fostered by others. If it were someone older… It would depend on the person and how many personal enemies they had accumulated over the years.

Madara didn’t say anything else nor did he spare the boy another glance as he stomped out, temples throbbing viciously.

“Hitomi can show you to the labs,” Tobirama’s last words followed him and lo and behold, his guard dog really was slouching in the hall nearby. Madara hadn’t even noticed him.

Hitomi regarded him disdainfully before he straightened up and motioned for him to follow. Honestly. How did these assholes manage to look down on him when they were the ones forced on their knees?

He made sure not to look at anyone in particular as the crowd outside parted for them. Once they were far enough away, Madara chanced a look and could see the lingering crowd swarming Tobirama’s house, the children at the front. Despite himself, he stared – children, women, elderly, many faced that he had never seen on a battlefield, some heavily injured individuals. He recognized the shinobi. There were men he remembered always hovering close to Butsuma huddled together in front of a run-down shop, seasoned fighters high on alert, younger ones he barely knew, Senju Hayato standing in front of the circle of elders with his skeletal extra arms whirring restlessly in the air. They had been surrounding the crowd like a protective shield and even now weren’t dispersing, watching eyes following him as if they expected to be attacked any moment.

His insides churned uncomfortably at the sight. Until he caught Tōka staring back at him with an unveiled challenge gleaming in her glare and turned away.

Hitomi hadn’t slowed down for him nor did he comment on Madara’s tardiness. What he did say once Madara was level with him and they were making their way away from the buildings into a tree lined path was, “If we were being led by a _lunatic_ , there wouldn’t have been any peace treaty.”

Madara didn’t falter but came close to it and masked it with a derisive snort. “It’s not like he had any other choice between that and death.”

“Death _was_ a choice, though,” Hitomi shrugged. “Ours and his. Butsuma chose it, didn’t he?” When Hitomi turned his head toward him, his gaze was burning in a way that had Madara stiffen. “What I’m saying is that you shouldn’t talk about things you have no idea about, Uchiha-san.”

Madara pressed his lips into a thin line.

The Senju were rigidly loyal to their clan, its traditions and laws and leaders, something that never ceased to frustrate Hashirama and that would be problematic going forward. But Madara thought of the children living in that house and the people flocking toward Tobirama just now, of Tōka’s anger on Tobirama’s behalf and Hitomi’s cutting reprimand and wondered. Was it truly just loyalty for loyalty’s sake?

Kami, he couldn’t wait to get out of this forsaken place and clear his head.


	9. First steps.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here we go! I might or might not go over this chapter again at a later time but I didn't want to make you guys wait any longer :) More on it at the end.

They were given a day more at their compound.

Tobirama didn’t dare fall asleep again.

* * *

“I asked for Inabi-san.”

Senju Himiko sighed, the sound as frail as her wiry form. To Tobirama, it looked like she was about to topple over any moment, but he knew better than that. No matter how many years sucked out her energy, pure spite had his great-grandmother remain steadfast. The most unnerving thing about her were her eyes, though. Milky white, unseeing, and yet focused so intensely on him that he would swear his life on the fact that she could see _everything_.

She hadn’t touched her tea and there was no food to be offered; they already had had a meager last dinner surrounded by the crumbling shops outside of his house, hours ago – _all_ of them. A final meal in familiarity. Their belongings and rations were already packed, there was nothing he could have offered her even in mock hospitality.

“I’m well aware,” she said drily. “He asked me to talk to you.”

 _Ah, of course_. Tobirama shared a furtive, exasperated glance with Hitomi over the old woman’s head who looked like he was chewing on a lemon. “It’s just one surgery. I don’t understand why Inabi-san’s being so stubborn about it!”

Himiko’s chapped lips curled into a pleased smile that had Tobirama’s eyebrows twitch in annoyance. “There, there. I was starting to forget that there’s a child somewhere in there.”

“I’m not a child,” Tobirama hissed. Usually, he had more patience than this. More composure. But apparently, those Uchiha had eaten away at every shred of his patience. The constant throbbing behind his right eye, normally dull but infuriatingly persistent and sharp tonight, didn’t help much either.

He was _tired_. So incredibly and unbelievably tired.

“It’s not a bad thing, Tobirama.” Himiko hit the tip of her walking stick against the floor right next to Tobirama’s right knee as if to underline her words. “You should allow yourself a little respite from time to time.”

Tobirama stared at her blankly, unsure whether he was hearing correctly. “What does that- We’re in the middle of fighting for our survival.”

She nodded. “Of course. But with Butsuma gone, life is going to be easier. We’re free. You should take advantage of that, should you not?”

 _What_. His fingers twisted into the material of his sleeping yukata where they were resting in his lap, twitching in tandem to his loud, painful heartbeats. He hadn’t eaten much earlier and was thankful for that now; bile was burning in the back of his throat.

“Is that what you tell yourselves?” Hitomi huffed from where he was leaning against the doorframe, head lolled to the side so he could observe them without staring too openly. “To make yourselves feel better? ‘He’s gone, let’s pretend that so are his sins and ours’?” Silence. Tobirama probably should… stop Hitomi, there was no need to be disrespectful like this, but… “Butsuma’s death,” Hitomi continued lowly, tone so freezing that it had goosebumps run down Tobirama’s arms, “doesn’t miraculously erase the damages he has caused, Himiko-sama.”

“And neither our own failings, huh?” she added wryly. Hitomi didn’t deny which only elicited an ugly chuckle from her. “Aren’t you quite the loyal caretaker, Hitomi-chan?”

Tobirama truly didn’t understand the old crook. Sometimes, she seemed to genuinely care about his wellbeing even if she lacked the ability to properly show it. But more often than not, he couldn’t determine whether she was simply callous with her words – uncaring of their impact and ignorant of how they could be taken.

 _Allow yourself some respite…_ As if Tobirama had the luxury to allow himself anything. For years, the Elders had forced it into him that the clan always came first and that he had to do everything possible to ensure its safety. Which he understood, they did what they had to in order to protect everyone, individual sacrifices were nothing compared to that. And yet, to his own shame, he couldn’t fully quell the bitterness simmering in his veins right now. After everything, she had the nerve to criticize him for not focusing on himself more? How was that fair? How did he _always_ end up lacking in their eyes?

 _With Butsuma gone_ … As if death was something that would stop Father from hovering over their lives like a foreboding, dark cloud. The man was everywhere: He had been the backdrop of their concessions, he was the shadow forcing them out of their home, he was the filthy judgement everyone regarded them with. He wasn’t gone. There was no freedom – only shackles made from Butsuma’s sins.

 _Kami_ , he was tired.

“I need Inabi-san,” he said, unwilling to entertain whatever game his great-grandmother was trying to play here. The last thing he wanted to do right now was remembering his father. “Madara wants the sharingan back, it’s included in the treaty.” _As you know_.

Himiko exhaled a long, shuddering breath and suddenly, the lines in her face seemed deeper and the exhaustion etched into them more prominent. “He doesn’t deem the procedure as safe.”

Utter nonsense. Tobirama had heard this before - through Hayato rather than the old medic himself - and he was _done_ with these excuses. Implanting the sharingan hadn’t been safe either, especially not after they had realized that Tobirama’s body was actively rejecting it. Had that stopped the old geezer from going through with it? He would impassively watch Tobirama writhe and scream in agony and cluck his tongue in irritation at every failure as if it was Tobirama’s own fault – and try again as soon as Tobirama was well enough.

So, Tobirama didn’t believe that his safety was of any concern to Inabi-san. What exactly was the issue, then? Did it go against his pride to undo his own work like this? To admit this little defeat to the Uchiha?

Whatever it was, Tobirama refused to deal with it.

He could handle some pain and discomfort and Inabi-san wouldn’t die from this slight, but their clan definitely could not handle Madara’s ire.

“I don’t care,” he gritted out through his clenched teeth. “He’ll have to do it. There’s no one else I can ask!”

“ _Tobirama_ ,” Himiko said – not quite chiding him but there was a warning note coloring her tone, one that had Tobirama’s whole body stiffen. “He’s old. This is a complicated procedure as it is without your added sensitivity. Plus, we are losing are lodgings and equipment. If anything happens to you, what will become of us?”

Tiredly, Tobirama leaned back against the wall behind him and stared at the stream of moonlight that fell into his room just over his head. If anything happened to him… would that soften up the other clans toward them? They did harbor a special grudge against him personally, after all, and if it hadn’t been obvious before than Madara’s rant the other day made it clear that they would rather not see him remain the Head of the Senju.

But hatred and prejudice weren’t as straight forward that they would disappear simply because Tobirama had. Given that, even the mere thought of leaving his people, vulnerable as they were, on their own devices surrounded by and defenseless against their enemies had his stomach churn with disgust.

“We can’t ignore one of their core conditions,” he still insisted, albeit with less bite. “And Inabi-san could have told me that himself. Why is he sending you to talk on his behalf? They all do that.” For some bizarre reason, except for Setsuna-san the other Elders would have Himiko pose as their mouthpiece which didn’t make any sense. Before Father’s death, they had no inhibitions to voice their opinions, although they always made sure to have them align to whatever Father would deem acceptable.

“He doesn’t want to risk upsetting you and with you,” she made a vague gesture behind herself toward Hitomi although, Tobirama was sure she meant more than him. “Butsuma was a known factor for them. You’re still quite new in your role and there are enough things to worry about without risking in-fighting.”

Tobirama felt his insides coil tightly around her implication. “I’m not that delicate that I can’t take disagreements.”

Her silence told him that she thought otherwise, and it had him grit his teeth in annoyance. He wasn’t a child. He was low on patience, yes, and didn’t have the nerves to deal with unreasonable behavior but he wouldn’t break from anyone laying out their disagreeing opinions to him and sure as hell wouldn’t allow anyone – be it Hitomi or Tōka or whoever – to fight needlessly on his behalf. What did they think who he was?

“Don’t be so surprised,” the old croon tutted disapprovingly. “We’re just being considerate. This is a sensitive time for all of us. And you can’t deny that, at the very least, Tōka is itching for blood.”

He grimaced at that. Tōka _had_ been in a very foul mood ever since that day they had sat down with Madara and the others to “finalize” the treaty. It had only gotten worse when Tobirama had refused to take her along with him for the trial – she hadn’t talked to him once since then – and the impromptu Uchiha invasion hadn’t helped matters, either. It was true, it wouldn’t take much to have Tōka break and lash out, especially over him. Not knowing what would cause her to finally cave did leave him tense with anticipation.

Thinking about it all was draining. He pinched the bridge of his nose, hoping to alleviate the constant throbbing in his right temple. His vision was starting to swim as well, _Goddamn_. “I don’t care about excuses. Stop treating me like a child – I _am_ your clan Head and I expect everyone to come directly to me when they have something to say.”

Himiko pursed her lips, whether in thought or displeasure he had no idea, before nodding slowly. “Noted. But that does not change the fact that Inabi will not do your surgery.”

“And what are we supposed to do instead?” he growled.

His great-grandmother heaved herself to her feet, wobbling for several moments until she found her balance, walking stick firm in her grip and turned away toward the door. “We will find someone else. There are other medics in Hi no Kuni who could perform the surgery. Some even rather _close_ , I’d reckon.”

Tobirama stared after her retreating back in disbelief.

Of course, there were other medics in the country but the Senju were – _used_ to be known for their prowess in this field more so than anyone else. Inabi-san was one of the most skilled at his craft even among their clan. Yet, with their numbers depleted, so did the numbers of able healers. Setsuna-san had long since stopped working as a medic but even during his active years, he had never done the more complex procedures; the smell and sight of bloody flesh wounds did not become him. As for the younger ones, they made sure to teach them the very basics and some were surely promising, but no one was up to the level that would allow them to safely cut open another person.

Except…

 _No_ , he admonished himself sharply. _Ridiculous_. That surely wasn’t who the old hag was referring to.

Alright, so Tobirama couldn’t force Inabi-san to do this if the man was this vehemently against it; he would cut his losses here. Just one more thing to worry about.

He sat up straight and crossed his legs, staring at Hitomi reproachfully. “You shouldn’t be picking fights with her.”

Hitomi, now fully turned toward him, frowned at him incredulously. “She was sprouting a lot of nonsense. What is even going on with the Elders? Instead of making your life easier, they keep adding more problems. Ungrateful leeches the lot of them.”

That wasn’t entirely true. They had accepted his decision to surrender without any complaint and as of yet, no one had approached him about the finalized treaty – the fact that they were about to leave their homes, the kind of power the Uchiha and their allies were asking for over clan matters – nothing had been questioned. There was displeasure over these things, plain and obvious, but they had taken them in stride.

The one thing the Elders were opposing was his request to remove the sharingan. At least, they refused to be involved, and Tobirama couldn’t pinpoint whether that was because they were honestly worried over the prospect of something going wrong during the surgery or whether this was just their pride making itself known.

“They have been rather docile,” he muttered quietly.

Hitomi snorted. “Better for them, I’d say.”

Tobirama raised an eyebrow at him. “Aren’t you in good spirits tonight?”

Wordlessly, Hitomi stepped into the uncomfortably empty room, heavy steps echoing off the walls, to crouch down in front of him. He reached out with one gloved palm that was glowing a soft green and pressed it against Tobirama’s aching temple. The soothing coldness was instantaneous, eliciting a relieved hum from Tobirama. How did he always know?

“I’ll talk to Hashirama if that’s alright with you.”

And just like that, any relief he might have felt evaporated, the thick steam it left behind clogging his throat.

“I don’t care about what the Uchiha demand,” Hitomi continued while studying his face attentively. “But the faster we get that _thing_ out, the better. It’s constantly feeding off your chakra, isn’t it?”

Not as much if he wasn’t using it, but enough to make itself known. They hadn’t talked about it before but Hitomi was always shadowing him, always listening in to things.

“Have you ever considered what would happen once they seal your chakra?”

Tobirama had and the answers were not satisfying. The sharingan fed off chakra like a parasite fed off its host to function properly – he couldn’t turn his off, so it was always activated and chipped away at whatever reserves it could. The headaches he had gotten used to by now although, sometimes they tended to be unbearably awful. There was a high probability that sealing off his chakra would destroy the eye, and wouldn’t that be quite the irony?

“If Inabi-san’s determined to be a stubborn bastard, we will have to find someone else to remove this. Hashirama is, supposedly, a very skilled medic.”

Tobirama was sure that if not for his great-grandma’s parting statement, Hitomi wouldn’t have brought this up. _Scheming old_ …

“I can look for someone else, of course,” Hitomi added unsurely when Tobirama still failed to respond.

If he was honest to himself, he didn’t want _anyone_ doing it. It was a delicate process that left him at his most vulnerable and letting another person witness it, let alone having access to him while he was defenseless… He swallowed the burning bile rising in his throat.

Inabi-san was one thing. The man had already seen him like that plenty of times and whether his concern was sincere or not, Tobirama was certain that he wouldn’t risk anything happening to him during the surgery. He didn’t have the same assurance from a complete stranger, nor would he know their skill level as intimately.

Hashirama, though? Aside from his raw power, Hashirama was very talented when it came to healing – _everyone_ was aware of that. He had had the immense potential since childhood and only grew into it over the years. But…

He grabbed Hitomi’s fingers and lifted them off his temple, though he didn’t let go completely, his attention focused on the flickering glow. The glove had a smooth texture and was cool to the touch. His mind strayed – _Hashirama sitting next to Madara as if they were equals, Hashirama blending into the Uchiha in that council room as if he belonged there, the accusations and disappointment etched into_ -

“I don’t want to ask him.”

It would be a little like admitting defeat. Admitting that they _needed_ him. Which was childish, it would be nothing but a deal between two parties trying to fulfill the same contract – but perhaps, Tobirama had more of that Senju pride in him than he wanted to recognize.

For a long moment, Hitomi didn’t say anything and just observed him. Many clan members and especially the Elders did that a lot when talking to him as if they were weighing what was safe to say and what wasn’t. Yet, with Hitomi it was never patronizing. He didn’t think that Tobirama needed to be handled carefully, that he would break easily – Tobirama appreciated it.

Eventually, “If it’s just asking, I can do that. Unless you don’t want him to do the surgery?”

Both.

But he didn’t know how far into the construction the other clans were, when the village would be ready, whether they would want his chakra sealed before that or how many liberties would be allowed to them during their time as “refugees”. There were too many uncertain factors here and too much to lose. He couldn’t allow his own discomfort to dictate his decisions. And Hitomi was right, the faster this was over with, the better.

“You can ask him,” he conceded and added, “Civilly” as an afterthought.

Hitomi tilted his head, ahoge jumping with the action, and smiled as he stretched out his arm, slowly enough for Tobirama to duck out of the way, to ruffle his hair. It was only brief, the ghost of a real touch and yet, familiar and comforting – the gloves helped, and he hadn’t flinched away from these small tokens of affection for a while now. “Of course. I’m not Tōka-nee-san.”

Tobirama’s lips curved upward but froze mid-way when a thought hit him. “Does sending you on my behalf make me a hypocrite?”

Hitomi lifted his right forefinger and mimicked tapping it against his forehead in a playfully reproachful manner. “You’re Clan Head. Who cares? Besides, handling outside matters is vastly different from inside and we’re supposed to do that for you.”

“You’re too good to me,” Tobirama mumbled, a little embarrassed.

Leaning back on he heels of his feet, Hitomi wrapped his arms around his kneed, pressed his cheek against them and smiled up at him a soft, rueful smile. “No one could never be _too_ good to you.”

Maybe things wouldn’t be as awful.

* * *

Or maybe they would.

* * *

Tobirama had been lingering at Itama and Kawarama’s graves, unwilling to leave despite having said his goodbyes, when little Kayo found him. She was a stumbling mess, panicked and completely out of breath.

Father’s house was burning.

It was the first thing Tobirama noticed.

He didn’t spare the Uchiha delegation that was hovering at the edge of the spectacle any attention, barely noticed Hikaku trying to approach him as he brushed past him while Kayo was struggling to keep up with his pace.

The world around him had been bundled into cotton and stayed firmly out of the reach of his numbing senses.

Tōka was crouching close to the flames that were licking at the front door, a torch clutched in her right hand while the other was buried in a heap of ashes. Her gaze was dark when it snapped straight toward him over her shoulder, made even darker by the lights and shadows dancing over her face. She seemed eerily calm: posture relaxed and expression unreadable. But there was a storm raging within her chakra, violent, destructive, so full of sorrow that he could feel it vibrating through his bones, and the faintest flicker of shame nestled within.

Tobirama’s feet were rooted where he came to an abrupt halt in the middle of a frozen crowd, left in a spacious bubble of space created by those around him.

Once, many years ago, he had almost drowned. Returning from a mission that had drained him of chakra, feverish and weak as he had crawled toward the Nakano, desperate to soothe his parched throat. The banks had been softened by days of constant raining and he hadn’t even realized when the ground under him gave way and the restless current seized him. He could still recollect vividly the pressure on his chest, growing steadily the deeper he sunk, imagined that that had to be what being buried alive felt like. And it had been so much, crushing his ribs and lungs, and he had snapped his mouth open, wanting to relieve the pain, only for the pressure to double as water burned into him, forcing him further down.

How exactly he had survived, Tobirama didn’t know. He had come to on Anija’s comforting chest, with Anija’s finger combing through his matted hair, and Kawarama crying against his shoulder blades.

Tobirama was drowning right now.

The higher the fire roared, the heavier the pressure on his chest turned – more and more bricks falling forcefully over each other, every new one ripping a new crack into his ribcage. When he tried to breath, to alleviate the ache, the air brought with it a myriad of emotions he couldn’t distinguish immediately, at first.

The anger, blazing as hotly as the flames and leaving him parched, was easy – Takeshi, Father’s most loyal man, the one who had tried to defy Tobirama’s orders to retreat when Father had been felled, was burning in resentment at the edge of the compound where he had volunteered to watch over the Senju’s carted belongings. He was always angry and threatening to light the same sparks among a faction that was as unhappy with Tobirama, that had been beholden to Father loyally in most ways, but had never fully dared to do so.

The Elders’ scandalized horror wasn’t hard to pick up, either. Specifically, Inabi-san’s that tasted rotten on the back of his tongue, and Kazuha-san and Shinya-san’s that was wavering between outrage and disgust.

And there was Tōka’s own overwhelming sorrow and rage coiling around his lungs like snakes intend on crushing his windpipe.

Others – discomfort, shame, shock, _so much shock_ because they were _Senju_ and they revered the forest, its trees and plants and rivers, _everything_ made from nature. Homes, made of wood, were _sacred_. They hosted the memories of generations, were an open abode for their restless spirits, a symbol of the mokuton that was worshipped among them.

The Senju did not take to fire like Uchiha.

Tobirama couldn’t care less about imitating the Uchiha or not.

But there was a current of anguished bitterness lurking under these foreign sensations, and it took him a long moment to realize that – it was him.

“If we’re going to start anew,” Tōka said, not moving, still fixating him. “Better to get rid of the _demons_.”

Tobirama wanted to bundle up those words and push them back down Tōka’s throat.

 _You’ll have to burn my lab too_ , he wanted to scream. _And the council rooms, the shabby cells, grandma’s wilting gardens. You’ll have to peel off every inch of my skin and melt my bones_. Because Father was everywhere – how silly to believe that he was confined in that building, as if the man would be held prisoner at one place. He was under Tobirama’s skin, a steady, humming presence. How would Tōka get rid of that?

How could she-

This was where his little brothers had taken their first steps, spoken their first words, laughed and cried for the first time. Where their rooms were still kept meticulously clean, where Kawarama had used to leave dirty footprints all over the halls after a tumble in the mud and watch Tobirama wash it away with his suiton, where Itama had used to force them to huddle in one room at nights and tell silly stories to keep away nightmares. Where Anija had been happy when living here, still smiled warmly at him, would grow pretty flowers to make the house more homely-

In every floorboard, memories were carved. Every creak was a blanketed laughter of Kawarama and Itama. Every corner full of their scents.

How _dare_ Tōka?!

What did it matter that Tobirama couldn’t even look at this house without dread churning his stomach? He would have gotten over it! Father was dead. Why did Tōka allow him to ruin that bit of a happy life that almost felt like a hallucination by now even in death?

Tōka rose slowly to her feet, mouth curled into a tight, downward line – as if she could read his thoughts. Maybe she could, he had never been able to hide anything from her. “Some wood constructions can’t hold complete lifetimes hostage.”

“Then, perhaps, you ought to burn down the whole compound,” Tobirama hissed, his voice a stranger to his own ears.

Tōka’s gaze sharpened, wild and feral, as she threw her torch into the sea of flames. “Perhaps I _will_.”

And a petty part of him, one he was ashamed of, hoped that she would so that he wasn’t the only one losing his precious people once again. He stomped it down until it didn’t even dare to stir and turned his back toward Tōka, unable to look at her any longer lest he did something that he would regret later.

He didn’t know what had gotten into her, why she was lashing out now and in such a way, but he refused to play along.

“If everyone is done idling around, I suggest that we get moving. Our _escorts_ are getting impatient.”

The crowd parted for him as they always did. This time, though, there was apprehension tainting their clumsy movements. He pretended not to notice, used to his clan’s people judging him heavily when they weren’t pitying him – their reference points his father, strong willed and with an iron fist ready to strike down any defiance, and his brother, warm and bright and secure – and even more used to coming short in comparison.

What did they want him to do? Admonish Tōka? Punish her? He was just tired of constantly fighting, couldn’t they _see_?

A familiar presence found its way behind him, falling into step like it was second nature. “I didn’t notice what she was up to until after the fire… I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault,” Tobirama murmured back. _She shouldn’t need watching over_ , he thought viciously.

“Still-”

“ _Hitomi_!” His tongue burnt with the anger rushing through his veins. “It’s fine.” It wasn’t. “Go, gather the children.”

There was a moment’s hesitation before Hitomi sighed. “Very well.”

Tobirama could feel sparks of regret flicker deep within him but he couldn’t bring himself to stop and calm down enough to apologize. Not yet.

Two small hands slipped into each of his own, causing him to falter in his steps, startled. When he looked down, Haru’s the dark grey of Haru's hair - the dye was fading - caught his attention first. The boy didn't look up at him and opted to press his cheek into Tobirama's arm. On his other side, Fuyuhiro’s touch was cold against his skin; it helped dimming the heat pulsating through his palms and keep him grounded right now.

He engulfed their hands more tightly.

The bricks weren’t crushing his chest as painfully anymore.

At the edge of where the inhabited part of their compound started, Hikaku stepped into his path once again. He opened his mouth but closed it without saying anything. His eyes flickered from him toward the fire behind him, nose scrunched up in confused trepidation. It was a ridiculous picture.

Tobirama decided to spare him from humiliating himself further; judging from how Haru was leaning forward to stare better at him, the boy was about to make an unkind comment and Tobirama would rather… just not. “If you don’t mind waiting a bit longer?”

The Uchiha made a sound that Tobirama thought was supposed to be a hum but came out strangled. He turned away wordlessly from them.

 _Thank Kami_ , because Tobirama really didn’t have the strength to summon false politeness. The larger a distance the Uchiha kept from him, the better.

* * *

Hashirama had known that Hikaku was here from the very moment that the younger shinobi had stepped into his house.

“Is this not a good time?”

The papers that he had been sprawled over – Tobirama’s research – were already pushed toward the edge of his table and he straightened up slowly. The only tell of his anxiety was his left foot tapping relentlessly against the floor but it was hidden from view.

Despite having been holed up in his office for hours, he hadn’t been able to even pretend that he was reading the research. His mind refused to focus. And wasn’t that pathetic? He had planned to start working through the sharingan research to distract himself from what was happening outside, initially. Yet...

The Senju were currently being settled within Uchiha territory. Not close to the compound, of course, and not far from the spot which they had designated for their village; they would have to do with tents for the time being and tolerate being under watch. But there would be food and safety - it was better than trying to survive off dead fields, Madara had scoffed the evening before over dinner which had not helped calm down Hashirama's own unease. Dead fields in Senju territory was akin to the Uchiha losing their fire affinity; unheard of. Had they been starving long before Butsuma had died? How?

The knowledge of his former clan being within reach was enough to have his nerves jitter restlessly through his body and destroy any resemblance of focus he might have otherwise been able to summon.

“Ah, no, it’s fine! Come in!”

Hikaku did so with little hesitation and a small smile on his lips. He was always smiling like that. “Forgive me for intruding.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Hashirama waved off his concerns. “Is everything alright?”

As far as he was aware, Hikaku had been in charge of the delegation that was supposed to escort the Senju to their new living arrangements. Hashirama hadn’t quite dared to request that any of them report to him afterward, not with Kokoro-san’s sharp attention on him, waiting for him to slip up in some way, and Madara constantly worrying over him for some reason. But perhaps, Madara had told Hikaku to come see him? Surely, his friend had noticed his antsy behavior today. And considering how busy Madara was, divided between his clan, brother, and their fledgling village, it made sense that he hadn’t been able to come himself.

“Yes. So far.” The troubled crease digging between Hikaku’s eyebrows wasn’t as assuring as his words ought to be. “I was asked to deliver a message.”

Curiously, Hashirama leaned forward on his arms. “Oh?”

“Senju Hitomi requests a meeting with you.”

Hashirama blinked owlishly at him, unsure whether he had heart correctly. That… was not something he had been expecting. Not at all. “Hitomi? _Just_ him?”

Hikaku nodded in affirmation. “He wouldn’t tell me what this is about. Do you think…” A pause. Hikaku looked left and right as if to make sure there was no one to overhear them, which was ridiculous. No one could eavesdrop on Hashirama in a house he had built out of his own mokuton. “Might he be trying to make amends with you?”

 _Would he support you_? was what Hashirama heard hiding behind that question and it had his stomach twist into painful knots.

It was a fair question, he supposed, considering how hotly everyone had been debating the leadership of the Senju and kept expressing their displeasure that Tobirama remained Clan Head. The fact that he had come out of the Uchiha’s trial alive had been met with scorn, making every meeting among the clans a tedious hassle ever since.

Although, no one had ever brought up that Hashirama should reclaim leadership before. At least, not to his face.

He mulled it over.

In their childhood, Hitomi would follow him around a lot, eager to learn new tricks and techniques from him. It had been fun because Hitomi, while younger, was closer to his age than his brothers and who didn’t enjoy being looked up to? Back then, the kid hadn’t been fond of Tobirama and more often than not, Hashirama had been forced to put a stop to their quarrels before either of them got seriously hurt.

Yet… when they had met up to discuss the peace treaty, Hitomi had been hostile toward him. It still rattled him, he was loath to admit. The cold fury where there used to be warm adoration, the way he had positioned himself in front of Tobirama as if Hashirama was an imminent threat.

And it was no secret that on the battlefield, he was always a step behind Tobirama, keeping close like a loyal shadow and never hesitating to strike out before Tobirama could, if he had the chance to.

Hashirama didn’t know what had changed in his years away but Hitomi would probably slit his throat and even then, never consider backstabbing Tobirama.

All that aside, Hashirama wasn’t a naïve fool. He had defected from his clan, there was no name he could claim as his own – whether the Senju genuinely supported Tobirama or not, tradition and pride would never allow them to let Hashirama lead them.

“I highly doubt that,” he eventually said and almost flinched at the note of regret tinting his voice. When had he last allowed himself to feel regret? Had he ever? But he couldn’t deny that simply making amends _would_ have been nice.

Hikaku pursed his lips but didn’t comment any more on it. “Do you want to meet him?”

 _No_. Hashirama didn’t want to meet any of them, not alone, not for as long as his stomach churned at the mere thought of it.

 _How cowardly_. And unfair. It could be something as simple as wanting assurance that they would be safe surrounded by their once enemies. Although, he should have been the last person any of them sought out for reassurance. And wouldn’t Tobirama be requesting a meeting, in that case? Why wasn’t he?

“I’ll think about it,” he decided to settle on for now. “Anything else? Did your journey go well?”

“As well as could be expected,” Hikaku huffed. “They were all very tense and in foul moods.” Squinting thoughtfully at Hashirama, he added with a note of uncertainty, “Your cousin burnt down a house before they left.”

Startled, Hashirama jerked upright, knee hitting the underside of the table surface and sending a staple of papers flying down. “ _What_?”

Hikaku took half a step backward in surprise. He got a grip on himself just as quickly. “She burnt down a house. It was rather huge, bigger than the others? And a little more isolated.”

Their home. Butsuma’s house.

What the hell?

That couldn’t be right. They were _Senju_. Their homes were sacred – the memories living in there, the ghosts of the past breathing through every corner – it was- No Senju would dare to even consider burning down their home. It was a travesty. Shameful. An offense worthy to be stripped off your honor for.

Why would Tōka do something like that? Sure, she was a hothead but she wasn't tactless like that. Why would Tobirama _let_ her?! That was- Itama and Kawarama-

“Is everything alright?”

Hashirama curled in his trembling the fingers of his left hand, tips pressed into his palms where his chakra was thrashing furiously. He cleared his throat, more forcefully than necessary, and rubbed the bridge of his nose in an attempt to soothe his growing agitation. “Ah. Y-yeah.”

Hikaku didn’t look convinced. “Are you sure? You look really pale-”

“It’s fine,” he cut him off too sharply. More calmly, he said, “Tell Hitomi that I can meet him whenever he wants.”

Still a little hesitant, Hikaku bowed before exiting the room. Once he was gone, Hashirama buried his face into his hands and breathed against his heated skin. His stomach refused to settle down and his rapidly beating heart didn’t help the nausea welling up in him, either.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's really funny how I've basically discarded most of my initial drafts for the story - or keep pushing them back because this just... keeps expanding on itself, lol. I think that's a (bad) habit of mine when it comes to writing.
> 
> I had so much fun writing the whole Hitomi and Tobirama scene! They're just - good for the soul.
> 
> As for Toka, I promise she's got no malicious intentions. But you probably already know that, lol. They're all strung up high (some more, others less), atm, and some just have explosive (and thoughtless) ways to express that. Tobirama and her need to sit down and have a chat soon, though. Talking does wonders :p
> 
> Overall, this was a calm chapter, I'd say. Build-up processes always are. Hope you enjoyed it regardless!

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me on tumblr: [tozhan](https://tozhan.tumblr.com/)

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Unintended Consequences](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20581736) by [VWebb](https://archiveofourown.org/users/VWebb/pseuds/VWebb)
  * [Hidden in Stagnant Pools](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20920742) by [Lilili_cat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lilili_cat/pseuds/Lilili_cat)
  * [Collection of Tobirama-centric fanart](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20225047) by [Alasse_m](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alasse_m/pseuds/Alasse_m)
  * [Breathe with Me](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24641896) by [KyuuKyuuMoo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KyuuKyuuMoo/pseuds/KyuuKyuuMoo)




End file.
